o     -    ■'■  c  vU  FORM  I A 

LOS  ANGt;Liii> 
LIBRARY 


CONTENTS. 


Pagb 

A  Christmas  Caeol Charles  Dkhns    .    .      7  • 

The  Haunted  Crust     ....  Kathenne  Smmden    ■     51  • 

A  DiSSEKTATION  XIPON  ROAST  PiG  Charles  Lamb  ...      85    • 

The  Total  Depravitt  of  Inani- 
mate Things Mrs.  E.  a.  Walker      .     95  , 

The  Skeleton  in  the  Closet  .  Edward  Everett  Hale .  112  « 

Sandy  Wood's  Sepulchre      .     .  Hugh  Miller  .     .    .  127  ♦ 

A  Visit  to  the  Asylum  for  Aged 

AND  Decayed  Punsters      .     .  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes  135  ' 

Mr.  Tibbot  O'Leary,  THE  Curious  Gerald  Griffin .     .     .  145  « 

NeaL  Malone William  Carleton  .     .   188  , 


A   CHRISTMAS   CAROL. 

BY  CHARLES  DICKENS,  . 


STAVE\ONE. 


MARLEY  S   GHOST. 


IIAELEY  was  dead,  to  begm  with.  There  is  no 
doubt  whatever  about  that.  The  register  of 
his  burial  was  signed  by  the  clergyman,  the 
clerk,  the  undertaker,  and  the  chief  mourner.  Scrooge 
signed  it.  And  Scrooge's  name  was  good  upon  'Change 
for  anything  he  chose  to  put  his  hand  to. 

Old  Marley  was  as  dead  as  a  door -nail. 

Scrooge  knew  he  was  dead  ?  Of  course  he  did.  How 
could  it  be  otherwise  ?  Scrooge  and  he  were  partners 
for  I  don't  know  how  many  years.  Scrooge  was  his  sole 
executor,  his  sole  administrator,  his  sole  assign,  his  sole 
residuary  legatee,  liis  sole  friend,  his  sole  mourner. 

Scrooge  never  painted  out  old  Marley's  name,  how- 
ever. There  it  yet  stood,  years  afterwards,  above  the 
warehouse  door,  —  Scrooge  and  Marley.  The  firm  was 
known  as  Scrooge  and  Marley.  Sometimes  people  new 
to  the  business  called  Scrooge  Scrooge,  and  sometimes 
Marley.  He  answered  to  both  names.  It  was  all  the 
same  to  him. 


O  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

Oh !  But  he  was  a  tight-fisted  hand  at  the  grindstonej 
was  Scrooge  !  a  squeezing,  wrenching,  grasping,  scrap- 
ing, clutching,  covetous  old  sinner !  External  heat  and 
cold  had  little  influence  on  him.  No  warmth  could  warm, 
no  cold  could  chill  him.  No  wind  that  blew  was  bitterer 
than  he,  no  falling  snow  was  more  intent  upon  its  pur- 
pose, no  pelting  raiu  less  open  to  entreaty.  Foul  weather 
did  n't  know  where  to  have  him.  The  heaviest  rain  and 
snow  and  hail  and  sleet  could  boast  of  the  advantage 
over  hiT-n  in  only  one  respect,  —  they  often  "  came  down  " 
handsomely,  and  Scrooge  never  did. 

Nobody  ever  stopped  him  in  the  street  to  say,  with 
gladsome  looks,  "My  dear  Scrooge,  how  are  you? 
When  will  you  come  to  see  me  ? "  No  beggars  imploi^d 
him  to  bestow  a  trifle,  no  children  asked  him  what  it  was 
o'clock,  no  man  or  woman  ever  once  in  all  his  life  in- 
quired the  way  to  such  and  such  a  place,  of  Scrooge. 
Even  the  blind  men's  dogs  appeared  to  know  him ;  and 
when  they  saw  him  coming  on,  would  tug  their  owners 
into  doorways  and  up  courts ;  and  then  would  wag  their 
tails  as  though  they  said,  "  No  eye  at  all  is  better  than 
an  evil  eye,  dark  master  !  " 

But  what  did  Scrooge  care  !  It  was  the  very  thing  he 
liked.  To  edge  his  way  along  the  crowded  paths  of  life, 
warning  all  human  sympathy  to  keep  its  distance,  was 
what  the  knowing  ones  call  "nuts"  to  Scrooge. 

Once  upon  a  time  —  of  all  the  good  days  in  the  year, 
upon  a  Christmas  eve  —  old  Scrooge  sat  busy  in  his 
counting-house.  It  was  cold,  bleak,  biting,  foggy  weath- 
er ;  and  the  city  clocks  had  only  just  gone  three,  but  it 
was  quite  dark  already. 


•     *      ^un  mmM  sohbol 

A   CHRISTMAS    CAROL.  ■         ^       9      """*""^, 

«-os  A//ge/es,  Qai. 

The  door  of  Scrooge's  counting-house  was  open,  that 
he  might  keep  his  eye  upon  his  clerk,  who,  iu  a  dismal 
little  cell  beyond,  a  sort  of  tank,  was  copying  letters. 
Scrooge  had  a  very  small  fire,  but  the  clerk's  fire  was  so 
very  much  smaller  that  it  looked  hke  one  coal.  But  he 
could  n't  replenish  it,  for  Scrooge  kept  the  coal-box  in 
his  own  room ;  and  so  surely  as  the  clerk  came  in  with 
the  shovel  the  master  predicted  that  it  would  be  necessary 
for  them  to  part.  Wherefore  the  clerk  put  on  his  white 
comforter,  and  tried  to  warm  himself  at  the  candle ;  in 
which  effort,  not  beiug  a  man  of  a  strong  imagination,  he 
failed. 

"  A  merry  Christmas,  uncle  !  God  save  you  !  "  cried 
a  cheerful  voice.  It  was  the  voice  of  Scrooge's  nephew, 
who  came  upon  Hm  so  quickly  that  this  was  the  fijrst  in- 
timation Scrooge  had  of  his  approach. 

"  Bah  !  "  said  Scrooge  ;  "  humbug !  " 

"  Christmas  a  humbug,  uncle  !  You  don't  mean  that, 
I  am  sure  ?  " 

"I  do.  Oat  upon  merry  Christmas  !  "WTiat  's  Christ- 
mas time  to  you  but  a  time  for  paying  bills  without 
money ;  a  time  for  finding  yourself  a  year  older,  and 
not  an  hour  richer ;  a  time  for  balancing  your  books  and 
having  every  item  in  'em  through  a  round  dozen  of 
months  presented  dead  against  you  ?  If  I  had  my  wiU, 
every  idiot  who  goes  about  with  '  Merry  Christmas  '  on 
his  hps  should  be  boiled  with  his  own  pudding,  and  bur- 
ied with  a  stake  of  holly  through  his  heart !    He  should  !  " 

"Uncle!" 

"Nephew,  keep  Christmas  in  your  own  way,  and  let 
me  keep  it  in  mine." 
1* 


10  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

"  Keep  it !     But  you  don't  keep  it." 

"Let  me  leave  it  alone,  then.  Mucli  good  may  it  do 
you  !     Much  good  it  has  ever  done  you  !  " 

"  There  are  many  things  from  which  I  might  have 
derived  good,  by  which  I  have  not  profited,  I  dare  say, 
Christmas  among  the  rest.  But  I  am  sure  I  have  always 
thought  of  Christmas  time,  when  it  has  come  round,  — 
apart  from  the  veneration  due  to  its  sacred  origin,  if 
anything  belonging  to  it  can  be  apart  from  that,  —  as  a 
good  time ;  a  kind,  forgiving,  charitable,  pleasant  time ; 
the  only  time  I  know  of,  in  the  long  calendar  of  the  year, 
when  men  and  women  seem  by  one  consent  to  open  their 
shut-up  hearts  freely,  and  to  tliiuk  of  people  below  them 
as  if  they  really  were  fellow-travellers  to  the  grave,  and 
not  another  race  of  creatures  bound  on  other  journeys. 
And  therefore,  uncle,  though  it  has  never  put  a  scrap  of 
gold  or  sUver  in  my  pocket,  I  believe  that  it  has  done 
me  good,  and  will  do  me  good ;  and  I  say,  God  bless 
it!" 

The  clerk  in  the  tank  involuntarily  applauded. 

"  Let  me  hear  another  sound  from  ^ok,"  said  Scrooge, 
"  and  you  '11  keep  your  Christmas  by  losuig  your  situa- 
tion !  — You  're  quite  a  powerful  speaker,  sir,"  he  added, 
turning  to  his  nephew.  "  I  wonder  you  don't  go  mto 
Parliament." 

"  Don't  be  angry,  uncle.  Come  !  Dine  with  us,  to- 
morrow." 

Scrooge  said  that  he  would  see  him  —  yes,  indeed  he 
did.  He  went  the  whole  length  of  the  expression,  and 
said  that  he  would  see  him  in  that  extremity  first. 

"  But  why  ?  "  cried  Scrooge's  nephew.     "  Why  ?  " 


A   CHRISTMAS    CAROL.  11 

"  Wliy  did  you  get  married  ? " 

"  Because  I  fell  iu  love." 

"  Because  you  fell  in  love  !  "  growled  Scrooge,  as  if 
that  were  the  only  oue  thing  in  the  world  more  ridicu- 
lous than  a  merry  Christmas.     "  Good  afternoon !  " 

"  Nay,  uncle,  but  you  never  came  to  see  me  before 
that  happened.  Why  give  it  as  a  reason  for  not  coming 
now  ?  " 

"  Good  afternoon." 

"  I  want  nothing  from  you ;  I  ask  nothing  of  you ; 
why  camiot  we  be  friends  ?  " 

"  Good  afternoon." 

"  I  am  sorry,  vdth  all  my  heart,  to  find  you  so  reso- 
lute. We  have  never  had  any  quarrel,  to  which  I  have 
been  a  party.  But  I  have  made  the  trial  in  homage  to 
Christmas,  and  I'll  keep  my  Christmas  humor  to  the 
last.     So  A  Merry  Christmas,  uncle  !  " 

"  Good  afternoon !  " 

"  And  A  Happy  New-Year  !  " 

"  Good  afternoon  !  " 

His  nephew  left  the  room  without  an  angry  word,  not- 
withstanding. The  clerk,  in  letting  Scrooge's  nephew 
out,  had  let  two  other  people  m.  They  were  portly  gen- 
tlemen, pleasant  to  behold,  and  now  stood,  with  their 
hats  off,  in  Scrooge's  office.  They  had  books  and  papers 
in  their  hands,  and  bowed  to  him.  ^, 

"  Scrooge  and  Marley's,  I  believe,"  said  one  dK  the 
gentlemen,  referring  to  his  list.  "  Have  I  the  pleasure 
of  addressing  Mr.  Scrooge,  or  Mr.  Marley  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Marley  has  been  dead  these  seven  years.  He 
died  seven  years  ago,  this  very  night." 


12  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

"At  this  festive  season  of  the  year,  Mr.  Scrooge," 
said  the  gentleman,  taking  up  a  pen,  "  it  is  more  than 
usually  desirable  that  we  should  make  some  slight  pro- 
vision for  the  poor  and  destitute,  who  suffer  greatly  at 
the  present  time.  Many  thousands  are  in  -want  of  com- 
mon necessaries ;  hundreds  of  thousands  are  in  want  of 
common  comforts,  sir." 

"  Are  there  no  prisons  ?  " 

"  Plenty  of  prisons.  But  under  the  impression  that 
they  scarcely  furnish  Christian  cheer  of  mind  or  body  to 
the  unoffending  multitude,  a  few  of  us  are  endeavoring 
to  raise  a  fund  to  buy  the  poor  some  meat  and  drink, 
and  means  of  warmth.  We  choose  this  time,  because  it 
is  a  time  of  all  others  when  Want  is  keenly  felt  and 
Abundance  rejoices.     What  shall  I  jjut  you  down  for  ?  " 

"  Nothing ! " 

"  You  wish  to  be  anonymous  ?  " 

"I  wish  to  be  left  alone.  Since  you  ask  me  what 
I  wish,  gentlemen,  that  is  my  answer.  I  don't  make 
merry  myself  at  Christmas,  and  I  can't  afford  to  make 
idle  people  merry.  I  help  to  support  the  prisons  and 
the  workhouses,  —  they  cost  enough,  —  and  those  who 
are  badly  off  must  go  there." 

"  Many  can't  go  there  ;  and  many  would  rather  die." 

"  If  they  would  rather  die,  they  had  better  do  it,  and 
decrease  the  surplus  population." 

At  lengtli  the  hour  of  shutting  up  the  counting-house 
arrived.  Witli  an  ill-will  Scrooge,  dismounting  fi-om  his 
stool,  tacitly  admitted  the  fact  to  the  expectant  clerk  in 
the  Tank,  who  instantly  snuffed  his  candle  out,  and  put 
on  his  hat. 


A   CHRISTMAS    CAROL.  13 

"  You  '11  want  all  day  to-morrow,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  If  quite  convenient,  sir." 

"  It 's  not  convenient,  and  it 's  not  fair.  If  I  was  to 
stop  half  a  crown  for  it,  you  'd  think  youi'self  mightily 
ill-used,  I  '11  be  bound  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  And  yet  you  don't  think  me  ill-used,  when  I  pay  a 
day's  wages  for  no  work." 

"  It 's  only  once  a  year,  sir." 

"  A  poor  excuse  for  picking  a  man's  pocket  every 
twenty -fifth  of  December !  But  I  suppose  you  must 
have  the  whole  day.  Be  here  aU  the  earlier  7iext  moru' 
ing." 

The  clerk  promised  that  he  would;  and  Scrooge 
walked  out  with  a  growl.  The  ofBice  was  closed  in  a 
twinkling,  and  the  clerk,  with  the  long  ends  of  his  white 
comforter  dangling  below  his  waist  (for  he  boasted  no 
great-coat),  went  down  a  slide,  at  the  end  of  a  lane  of 
boys,  twenty  times,  in  honor  of  its  being  Christmas  eve, 
and  then  ran  home  as  hard  as  he  could  pelt,  to  play  at 
blind-man's-buff. 

Scrooge  took  his  melancholy  dinner  in  his  usual  melan- 
choly tavern ;  and  having  read  all  the  newspapers,  and 
beguiled  the  rest  of  the  evening  with  his  banker's  book, 
went  home  to  bed.  He  lived  in  chambers  which  had 
once  belonged  to  his  deceased  partner.  They  were  a 
gloomy  suite  of  rooms,  in  a  lowering  pile  of  building  up  a 
yard.  The  building  was  old  enough  now,  and  dreary 
enough;  for  nobody  lived  in  it  but  Scrooge,  the  other 
rooms  being  all  let  out  as  offices. 

Now  it  is  a  fact,  that  there  was  nothing  at  aU  particu' 


14  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

lar  about  the  knocker  on  the  door  of  this  house,  except 
that  it  was  very  large ;  also,  that  Scrooge  had  seen  it, 
night  and  morning,  during  his  whole  residence  in  that 
place ;  also,  that  Scrooge  had  as  little  of  what  is  called 
fancy  about  him  as  any  man  in  the  city  of  London.  And 
yet  Scrooge,  havhig  his  key  in  the  lock  of  the  door,  saw 
in  the  knocker,  without  its  imdergoing  any  intermediate 
process  of  change,  not  a  knocker,  but  Marley's  face. 

Marley's  face,  with  a  dismal  light  about  it,  like  a  bad 
lobster  in  a  dark  cellar.  It  was  not  angry  or  ferocious, 
but  it  looked  at  Scrooge  as  Marley  used  to  look,  — 
with  ghostly  spectacles  turned  up  upon  its  ghostly  fore- 
head. 

As  Scrooge  looked  fixedly  at  this  phenomenon,  it  was 
a  knocker  again.  He  said,  "  Pooh,  pooh  !  "  and  closed 
the  door  with  a  bang. 

The  sound  resounded  through  the  house  like  thunder. 
Every  room  above,  and  every  cask  in  the  wine-mer- 
chant's cellars  below,  appeared  to  have  a  separate  peal 
of  echoes  of  its  own.  Scrooge  was  not  a  man  to  be 
frightened  by  echoes.  He  fastened  the  door,  and  walked 
across  the  hall,  and  up  the  stairs.  Slowly,  too,  trim- 
ming his  candle  as  he  went. 

Up  Scrooge  went,  not  caring  a  button  for  its  being 
very  dark.  Darkness  is  cheap,  and  Scrooge  hked  it. 
But  before  he  shut  his  heavy  door,  he  walked  through 
his  rooms  to  see  that  all  was  right.  He  had  just  enough 
recollection  of  the  face  to  desire  to  do  that. 

Sitting-room,  bedroom,  lumber-room,  all  as  they  should 
be.  Nobody  under  the  table,  nobody  under  the  sofa ;  a 
small  fire  in  the  grate ;  spoon  and  basin  ready ;  and  the 


A    CHRISTMAS    CAROL.  15 

little  saucepan  of  gruel  (Scrooge  had  a  cold  in  his  head) 
upon  the  hob.  Nobody  under  the  bed ;  nobody  in  the 
closet ;  nobody  in  his  dressing-gown,  which  was  hanging 
up  in  a  suspicious  attitude  against  the  wall.  Lumber- 
room  as  usual.  Old  fire-guard,  old  shoes,  two  fish-bas- 
kets, washing-stand  on  three  legs,  and  a  poker. 

Quite  satisfied,  he  closed  his  door,  and  locked  himself 
in ;  double-locked  himself  in,  which  was  not  his  custom. 
Thus  secured  against  sui-prise,  he  took  off  his  cravat, 
put  on  his  dressing-gown  and  slippers  and  his  night- 
cap, and  sat  down  before  the  very  low  fire  to  take  his 
gruel. 

As  he  threw  his  head  back  in  the  chair,  his  glance 
happened  to  rest  upon  a  bell,  a  disused  bell,  that  hung 
in  the  room,  and  communicated,  for  some  purpose  now 
forgotten,  with  a  chamber  in  the  highest  stoiy  of  the 
building.  It  was  with  great  astonishment,  and  with  a 
strange,  inexplicable  dread,  that,  as  he  looked,  he  saw 
this  bell  begin  to  swing.  Soon  it  rang  out  loudly,  and 
so  did  evei"y  bell  in  the  house. 

This  was  succeeded  by  a  clanking  noise,  deep  down 
below,  as  if  some  person  were  dragging  a  heavy  chain 
over  the  casks  in  the  vrine-merchant's  cellar. 

Then  he  heard  the  noise  much  louder,  on  the  floors  be- 
low ;  then  coming  up  the  stairs ;  then  coming  straight 
towards  his  door. 

It  came  on  through  the  heavy  door,  and  a  spectre 
passed  into  the  room  before  his  eyes.  And  iipon  its 
coming  in,  the  dying  flame  leaped  up,  as  though  it  cried, 
"  I  know  him  !     Marley's  ghost !  " 

The  same  face,  the  very  same.     Marley  in  his  pigtail. 


16  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

usual  waistcoat,  tiglits,  and  boots.  His  body  was  trans- 
parent; so  that  Scrooge,  observing  liim,  and  looking 
through  his  waistcoat,  could  see  the  two  buttons  on  his 
coat  behind. 

Scrooge  had  often  heard  it  said  that  Marley  had  no 
bowels,  but  he  had  never  believed  it  until  now. 

No,  nor  did  he  believe  it  even  now.  Though  he 
looked  the  phantom  through  and  through,  and  saw  it 
standing  before  him,  —  though  he  felt  the  chilling  in- 
fluence of  its  death-cold  eyes,  and  noticed  the  very  tex- 
ture of  the  folded  kerchief  bound  about  its  head  and  chin, 
—  he  was  still  incredulous. 

"  How  now  !  "  said  Scrooge,  caustic  and  cold  as  ever. 
"  What  do  you  want  with  me  ?  " 

"  Much !  "  —  Marley's  voice,  no  doubt  about  it. 

"  Wlio  are  you  ? " 

"  Ask  me  who  I  was." 

"  Who  were  you,  then  ?  " 

"  In  life  I  was  your  partner,  Jacob  Marley." 

"  Can  you  —  can  you  sit  down  ?  " 

"  I  can." 

"  Do  it,  then." 

Scrooge  asked  the  question,  because  he  did  n't  know 
whether  a  ghost  so  transparent  might  find  himself  in  a 
condition  to  take  a  chair  ;  and  felt  that,  in  the  event  of 
its  being  impossible,  it  might  involve  the  necessity  of  an 
embarrassmg  explanation.  But  the  ghost  sat  down  on 
the  opposite  side  of  the  fireplace,  as  if  he  were  quite  used 
to  it. 

"  You  don't  believe  in  me." 

"  r  don't." 


A    CHEISTMAS    CAROL.  17 

"  Wliat  evidence  would  you  liave  of  my  reality  beyond 
that  of  your  senses  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  Why  do  you  doubt  your  senses  ?  " 

"Because  a  little  thing  affects  them.  A  slight  dis- 
order of  the  stomach  makes  them  cheats.  You  may  be 
an  undigested  bit  of  beef,  a  blot  of  mustard,  a  crumb  of 
cheese,  a  fragment  of  an  underdone  potato.  There 's  more 
of  gravy  than  of  grave  about  you,  whatever  you  are  !  " 

Scrooge  was  not  much  in  the  habit  of  cracking  jokes, 
nor  did  he  feel  in  his  heart  by  any  means  waggish  then. 
The  truth  is,  that  he  tried  to  be  smart,  as  a  means  of 
distracting  his  own  attention,  and  keeping  down  his 
horror. 

But  how  much  greater  was  his  horror  when,  the  phan- 
tom taking  off  the  bandage  round  its  head,  as  if  it  were 
too  warm  to  wear  in-doors,  its  lower  jaw  dropped  down 
upon  its  breast ! 

"  Mercy  !  Dreadful  apparition,  why  do  you  trouble 
me  ?  Why  do  spirits  walk  the  earth,  and  why  do  they 
come  to  me  ?  " 

"  It  is  required  of  every  man,  that  the  spirit  within 
him  should  walk  abroad  among  his  fellow-men,  and  travel 
far  and  wide  ;  and  if  that  spirit  goes  not  forth  in  Hfe,  it 
is  condemned  to  do  so  after  death.  I  cannot  tell  you  all 
I  would.  A  very  little  more  is  permitted  to  me.  I  can- 
not rest,  I  cannot  stay,  I  camiot  linger  anywhere.  My 
spirit  never  walked  beyond  our  couuting-house,  —  mark 
me  !  —  in  life  my  spirit  never  roved  beyond  the  narrow 
limits  of  our  money-changing  hole ;  and  weary  journeys 
lie  before  me  !  " 

B 


18  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

"  Seven  years  dead.  And  travelling  all  the  time  ? 
You  travel  fast  ?  " 

"  On  the  wings  of  the  wind." 

"  You  might  have  got  over  a  great  quantity  of  ground 
in  seven  years." 

"  O  blind  man,  blind  man  !  not  to  know  that  ages  of 
incessant  labor  by  immortal  creatures  for  this  earth  must 
pass  into  eternity  before  the  good  of  which  it  is  suscep- 
tible is  all  developed.  Not  to  know  that  any  Christian 
spirit  working  kmdly  in  its  little  sphere,  whatever  it  may 
be,  will  find  its  mortal  life  too  short  for  its  vast  means  of 
usefulness.  Not  to  know  that  no  space  of  regret  can 
make  amends  for  one  life's  opportunities  misused !  Yet 
I  was  like  this  man  ;  I  once  was  Uke  this  man  !  " 

"  But  you  were  always  a  good  man  of  business,  Jacob," 
faltered  Scrooge,  who  now  began  to  apply  this  to  him- 
self. 

"  Business !  "  cried  the  Ghost,  wringing  its  hands 
again.  "  Mankind  was  my  business.  The  conmion 
welfare  was  my  business ;  charity,  mercy,  forbearance, 
benevolence,  were  all  my  business.  The  deahngs  of  my 
trade  were  but  a  drop  of  water  in  the  comprehensive 
ocean  of  my  business." 

Scrooge  was  very  much  dismayed  to  hear  the  spectre 
going  on  at  this  rate,  and  began  to  quake  exceedingly. 

"  Hear  me  !     My  time  is  nearly  gone." 

"  I  will.  But  don't  be  hard  upon  me  !  Don't  be  flow- 
ery, Jacob  !     Pray  !  " 

"  I  am  here  to-night  to  warn  you  that  you  have  yet  a 
chance  and  hope  of  escaping  my  fate.  A  chance  and 
hope  of  my  procuring,  Ebenezer." 


A    CHRISTMAS    CAROL.  19 

"  You  -were  always  a  good  friend  to  me.     Thank'ee  !  " 
"  You  -will  be  haunted  by  Three  Spirits." 
"  Is  that  the  chance  and  hope  you  mentioned,  Jacob  ? 
I  —  I  think  I  'd  rather  not." 

"  Without  their  visits,  you  cannot  hope  to  shun  the 
path  I  tread.  Expect  the  first  to-morrow  night,  when 
the  bell  toUs  One.  Expect  the  second  on  the  next 
night  at  the  same  hour.  The  third,  upon  the  next  night, 
when  the  last  stroke  of  Twelve  has  ceased  to  vibrate. 
Look  to  see  me  no  more ;  and  look  that,  for  your  own 
sake,  you  remember  what  has  passed  between  us  !  " 

It  walked  backward  from  him  ;  and  at  every  step  it 
took,  the  window  raised  itself  a  little,  so  that,  when  the 
apparition  reached  it,  it  was  wide  open. 

Scrooge  closed  the  window,  and  examined  the  door  by 
which  the  Ghost  had  entered.  It  was  double-locked,  as 
he  had  locked  it  with  his  own  hands,  and  the  bolts  were 
undisturbed.  Scrooge  tried  to  say,  "  Humbug  !  "  but 
stopped  at  the  first  syllable.  And  being,  from  the  emo- 
tion he  had  undergone,  or  the  fatigues  of  the  day,  or  his 
glimpse  of  the  invisible  world,  or  the  duU  conversation 
of  the  Ghost,  or  the  lateness  of  the  hour,  much  in  need 
of  repose,  he  went  straight  to  bed,  without  undressing, 
and  fell  asleep  on  the  instant. 


20  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

STAVE    TWO. 

THE   FIRST   OF   THE   THREE   SPIRITS. 

When  Scrooge  awoke,  it  was  so  dark,  that,  looking 
out  of  bed,  he  could  scarcely  distinguish  the  transparent 
window  from  the  opaque  walls  of  his  chamber,  until 
suddenly  the  church  clock  tolled  a  deep,  duU,  hollow, 
melancholy  ONE. 

Light  flashed  up  in  the  room  upon  the  instant,  and  the 
curtains  of  his  bed  were  drawn  aside  by  a  strange  figure, 
—  like  a  child :  yet  not  so  like  a  child  as  hke  an  old  man, 
viewed  through  some  supernatural  medium,  which  gave 
him  the  appearance  of  having  receded  from  the  view,  and 
being  diminished  to  a  child's  proportions.  Its  hair, 
which  hung  about  its  neck  and  down  its  back,  was  white 
as  if  with  age  ;  and  yet  the  face  had  not  a  wrinkle  in 
it,  and  the  tenderest  bloom  was  on  the  skin.  It  held  a 
branch  of  fresh  green  holly  in  its  hand ;  and,  in  singu- 
lar contradiction  of  that  wintry  emblem,  had  its  dress 
trimmed  with  summer  flowers.  But  the  strangest  thing 
about  it  was,  that  from  the  crown  of  its  head  there  sprung 
a  bright  clear  jet  of  hght,  by  which  all  this  was  visible; 
and  which  was  doubtless  the  occasion  of  its  using,  in  its 
duller  moments,  a  great  extinguisher  for  a  cap,  which  it 
now  held  under  its  arm. 

"Are  you  the  Spirit,  sir,  whose  coming  was  foretold 
to  me  ? " 

"lam!" 

"  Who  and  what  are  you  ?  " 

"  I  am  the  Ghost  of  Christmas  Past." 


A   CHRISTMAS    CAROL.  21 

"Long  past?" 

"  No.  Your  past.  The  things  that  you  mil  see  with 
me  are  shadows  of  the  things  that  have  been ;  they  will 
have  no  consciousness  of  us." 

Scrooge  then  made  bold  to  inquire  what  busiaess 
brought  him  there. 

"  Your  welfare.     Rise,  and  walk  with  me  !  " 

It  would  have  been  in  vain  for  Scrooge  to  plead  that 
the  weather  and  the  hour  were  not  adapted  to  pedestrian 
purposes ;  that  the  bed  was  warm,  and  the  thermometer  a 
long  way  below  freezing ;  that  he  was  clad  but  hghtly 
in  his  slippers,  dressing-gown,  and  nightcap ;  and  that 
he  had  a  cold  upon  him  at  that  time.  The  grasp,  though 
gentle  as  a  woman's  hand,  was  not  to  be  resisted.  He 
rose ;  but,  finding  that  the  Spirit  made  towards  the  win- 
dow, clasped  its  robe  in  supplication. 

"  I  am  a  mortal,  and  liable  to  faU." 

"Bear  but  a  touch  of  my  hand  ihere,"  said  the  Spirit, 
laying  it  upon  his  heart,  "and  you  shall  be  upheld  in 
more  than  this  !  " 

As  the  words  were  spoken,  they  passed  through  the 
wall,  and  stood  in  the  busy  thoroughfares  of  a  city.  It 
was  made  plain  enough  by  the  dressing  of  the  shops  that 
here,  too,  it  was  Christmas  time. 

The  Ghost  stopped  at  a  certain  warehouse  door,  and 
asked  Scrooge  if  he  knew  it. 

"  Know  it !     Was  I  apprenticed  here  !  " 

They  went  in.  At  sight  of  an  old  gentleman  in  a 
Welsh  wig,  sitting  behind  such  a  high  desk  that,  if  he 
liad  been  two  inches  taUcr,  he  must  have  knocked  his 
bead  agauist  the  ceiling,  Scrooge  cried  in  great  excite 


2'2  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

meiit,  "  Why,  it 's  old  Fezziwig !  Bless  his  heart,  it 's 
Fezziwig,  alive  again !  " 

Old  Fezziwig  laid  down  his  pen,  and  looked  up  at  the 
clock,  which  pointed  to  the  hour  of  seven.  He  rubbed 
his  hands ;  adjusted  his  capacious  waistcoat ;  laughed  all 
over  himself,  from  his  shoes  to  his  organ  of  benevolence; 
and  called  out  in  a  comfortable,  oily,  rich,  fat,  jovial 
voice,  "  Yo  ho,  there  !     Ebenezer !     Dick !  " 

A  living  and  moving  picture  of  Scrooge's  former  self, 
a  young  man,  came  briskly  in,  accompanied  by  his  fellow- 
'prentice. 

"  Dick  Wilkins,  to  be  sure ! "  said  Scrooge  to  the 
Ghost.  "My  old  fellow-'prentice,  bless  me,  yes.  There 
he  is.  He  was  very  much  attached  to  me,  was  Dick. 
Poor  Dick  !     Dear,  dear !  " 

"  Yo  ho,  my  boys  !  "  said  Fezziwig.  "  No  more  work 
to-night.  Christmas  eve,  Dick.  Christmas,  Ebenezer! 
Let 's  have  the  shutters  up,  before  a  man  can  say  Jack 
Robinson  !  Clear  away,  my  lads,  and  let 's  have  lots  of 
room  here ! " 

Clear  away  !  There  was  nothing  they  would  n't  have 
cleared  away,  or  could  n't  have  cleared  away,  with  old 
Fezziwig  looking  on.  It  was  done  in  a  minute.  Every 
movable  was  packed  off,  as  if  it  were  dismissed  from 
pubUc  life  forevermore ;  the  floor  was  swept  and  watered, 
the  lamps  were  trimmed,  fuel  was  heaped  upon  the  fire ; 
and  the  warehouse  was  as  snug  and  warm  and  dry  and 
bright  a  ball-room  as  you  would  desire  to  see  upon  a 
winter's  night. 

In  came  a  fiddler  with  a  music-book,  and  went  up  to 
the  lofty  desk,  and  made  an  orchestra  of  it,  and  tuned 


A   CHRISTMAS    CAROL.  23 

b'Jce  fifty  stomach-aches.  In  came  Mrs.  Fezziwig,  one 
vast  substantial  smile.  In  came  the  three  Miss  Fezzi- 
wigs,  beaming  and  lovable.  In  came  the  six  young 
followers  whose  hearts  they  broke.  In  came  all  the 
young  men  and  women  employed  in  the  business.  In 
came  the  housemaid,  with  her  cousin  the  baker.  In 
came  the  cook,  with  her  brother's  particular  friend  the 
milkman.  In  they  all  came  one  after  another ;  some 
shyly,  some  boldly,  some  gracefully,  some  awkwardly, 
some  pushing,  some  pulling;  in  they  all  came,  anyhow 
and  everyhow.  Away  they  all  went,  twenty  couple  at 
once;  hands  half  round  and  back  again  the  other  way 5 
down  the  middle  and  up  again;  round  and  round  in 
various  stages  of  affectionate  grouping;  old  top  couple 
always  turning  up  in  the  wrong  place ;  new  top  couple 
starting  off  again,  as  soon  as  they  got  there ;  all  top 
couples  at  last,  and  not  a  bottom  one  to  help  them. 
Wheu  this  result  was  brought  about,  old  Fezziwig, 
clapping  his  hands  to  stop  the  dance,  cried  out,  "  Well 
done ! "  and  the  fiddler  plunged  his  hot  face  into  a  pot 
of  porter  especially  provided  for  that  purpose. 

There  were  more  dances,  and  there  were  forfeits,  and 
more  dances,  and  there  was  cake,  and  there  was  negus, 
and  there  was  a  great  piece  of  Cold  Roast,  and  there 
was  a  great  piece  of  Cold  Boiled,  and  there  were  mince- 
pies,  and  plenty  of  beer.  But  the  great  effect  of  the 
evening  came  after  the  Boast  and  Boiled,  when  the 
fiddler  struck  up  "  Sir  Roger  de  Coverley."  Then  old 
Fezziwig  stood  out  to  dance  with  Mrs.  Fezziwig.  Top 
couple,  too ;  with  a  good  stiff  piece  of  work  cut  out  for 
them ;  three  or  four  and  twenty  pair  of  partners ;  people 


24  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

who  were  not  to  be  trifled  with;  people  who  would 
dance,  and  had  no  notion  of  walking. 

But  if  they  had  been  twice  as  many,  —  four  times,  — 
old  Tezziwig  would  have  been  a  match  for  them,  and  so 
would  Mrs.  Pezziwig.  As  to  her,  she  was  worthy  to 
be  his  partner  iu  every  sense  of  the  term.  A  positive 
hght  appeared  to  issue  from  Tezziwig's  calves.  They 
shone  in  every  part  of  the  dance.  You  could  n't  have 
predicted,  at  any  given  time,  what  would  become  of  'em 
next.  And  when  old  Eezziwig  and  Mrs.  Tezziwig  had 
gone  all  through  the  dance,  —  advance  and  retire,  turn 
your  partner,  bow  and  courtesy,  corkscrew,  thread  the 
needle,  and  back  again  to  your  place,  ■ —  Fezziwig  "  cut," 
—  cut  so  deftly,  that  he  appeared  to  wiuk  with  his 
legs. 

When  the  clock  struck  eleven  this  domestic  baU  broke 
up.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Fezziwig  took  their  stations,  one  on 
either  side  the  door,  and,  shaking  hands  with  every  per- 
son individually  as  he  or  she  went  out,  wished  him  or 
her  a  Merry  Christmas.  When  everybody  had  retired 
but  the  two  'prentices,  they  did  the  same  to  them ;  and 
thus  the  cheerfid  voices  died  away,  and  the  lads  were 
left  to  their  beds,  which  were  under  a  comiter  iu  the 
back  shop. 

"A  small  matter,"  said  the  Ghost,  "to  make  these 
silly  folks  so  full  of  gratitude.  He  has  spent  but  a  few 
pounds  of  your  mortal  money,  —  three  or  four  perhaps. 
Is  that  so  much  that  he  desei'ves  tliis  praise  ?  " 

"  It  is  n't  that,"  said  Scrooge,  heated  by  the  remark, 
and  speaking  unconsciously  like  his  former,  not  his  latter 
self,  —  "  it  is  n't  that,  Spirit.     lie  has  the  power  to  ren- 


A    CHmSTMAS    CAROL.  25 

der  us  happy  or  imliappy ;  to  make  our  service  light  or 
burdensome,  a  pleasure  or  a  toil.  Say  that  his  power 
lies  in  words  and  looks ;  iu  things  so  shght  and  insig- 
nificant that  it  is  impossible  to  add  and  count  'em  up  : 
what  then?  The  happiness  he  gives  is  quite  as  great 
as  if  it  cost  a  fortune." 

He  felt  the  Spirit's  glance,  and  stopped. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  " 

"  Nothing  particular." 

"  Something,  I  think  ?  " 

"  No,  no.  I  should  like  to  be  able  to  say  a  word  or 
two  to  my  clerk  just  now.     That 's  all." 

"  My  time  grows  short,"  observed  the  Spirit.    "  Quick ! " 

This  was  not  addressed  to  Scrooge,  or  to  any  one 
whom  he  could  see,  but  it  produced  an  immediate  effect. 
For  again  he  saw  himself.  He  was  older  now ;  a  man 
in  the  prime  of  life. 

He  was  not  alone,  but  sat  by  the  side  of  a  fair  young 
girl  in  a  black  dress,  in  whose  eyes  there  were  tears. 

"  It  matters  little,"  she  said  softly  to  Scrooge's  former 
self.  "To  you,  very  little.  Another  idol  has  displaced 
me ;  and  if  it  can  comfort  you  in  time  to  come,  as  I 
would  have  tried  to  do,  I  have  no  just  cause  to  grieve." 

"  What  Idol  has  displaced  you  ?  " 

"A  golden  one.  You  fear  the  world  too  much.  I 
have  seen  your  nobler  aspirations  fall  off  one  by  one,  untU 
the  master-passion,  Gain,  engrosses  you.     Have  I  not  ?  " 

"  Wliat  then  ?  Even  if  I  have  grown  so  much  wiser, 
what  then?  I  am  not  changed  towards  you.  Have  I 
wer  sought  release  from  our  engagement  ?  " 

"  In  words,  no.     Never." 

VOL.  V.  2 


26  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

"In  what,  then?" 

"In  a  changed  nature;  in  an  altered  spirit;  in  an- 
other atmosphere  of  life ;  another  Hope  as  its  great  end. 
If  you  were  free  to-day,  to-morrow,  yesterday,  can  even 
I  beheve  that  you  would  choose  a  dowerless  girl;  or, 
choosing  her,  do  I  not  know  that  your  repentance  and 
regret  would  surely  follow  ?  I  do ;  and  I  release  you. 
With  a  full  heart,  for  the  love  of  him  you  once  were." 

"  Spirit !  remove  me  from  this  place." 

"I  told  you  these  were  shadows  of  the  things  that 
have  been,"  said  the  Ghost.  "  That  they  are  what  they 
are,  do  not  blame  me  !  " 

"  Remove  me  !  "  Scrooge  exclaimed.  "  I  cannot  bear 
it !    Leave  me !    Take  me  back.    Haunt  me  no  longer !  " 

As  he  struggled  with  the  Spirit  he  was  conscious  of 
being  exhausted,  and  overcome  by  an  irresistible  drowsi- 
ness ;  and,  further,  of  behig  in  his  o^vn  bedroom.  He 
had  barely  time  to  reel  to  bed  before  he  sank  into  a 
heavy  sleep. 


STAVE    THREE. 

THE    SECOND    OF   THE    THKEE    SPIRITS. 

Scrooge  awoke  in  his  own  bedroom.  There  was  no 
doubt  about  that.  But  it  and  his  own  adjoinhig  sitting- 
room,  into  which  he  shuffled  in  his  slippers,  attracted 
by  a  great  light  there,  had  undergone  a  surprising  trans- 
formation. The  walls  and  ceiling  were  so  hung  with 
living  green,  that  it  looked  a  perfect  grove.     The  leaves 


A    CHRISTMAS    CAROL.  27 

of  holly,  mistletoe,  and  ivy  reflected  back  the  hght,  as 
if  so  many  little  mirrors  had  been  scattered  there ;  and 
such  a  mighty  blaze  went  roaring  up  the  chimney,  as  that 
petrifaction  of  a  hearth  had  never  known  in  Scrooge's 
time,  or  Marley's,  or  for  many  and  many  a  winter  season 
gone.  Heaped  upon  the  floor,  to  form  a  kuid  of  throne, 
were  turkeys,  geese,  game,  brawn,  great  joints  of  meat, 
sucking  pigs,  long  wreaths  of  sausages,  mince-pies,  plum- 
puddings,  barrels  of  oysters,  red-hot  chestnuts,  cherry- 
cheeked  apples,  juicy  oranges,  luscious  pears,  immense 
twelfth-cakes,  and  great  bowls  of  punch.  In  easy  state 
upon  this  couch  there  sat  a  Giant  glorious  to  see ;  who 
bore  a  glowing  torch,  in  shape  not  unlike  Plenty's  horn, 
and  who  raised  it  high  to  shed  its  light  on  Scrooge,  as  he 
came  peeping  round  the  door. 

"  Come  in,  —  come  in  !  and  know  me  better,  man !  I 
am  the  Ghost  of  Christmas  Present.  Look  upon  me ! 
You  have  never  seen  the  like  of  me  before ! " 

"Never." 

"  Have  never  walked  forth  with  the  younger  members 
of  my  family ;  meanmg  (for  I  am  very  young)  my  elder 
brothers  born  in  these  later  years  ?  "  pursued  the  Phan- 
tom. 

"  I  don't  think  I  have,  I  am  afraid  I  have  not.  Have 
you  had  many  brothers.  Spirit  ?  " 

"  More  than  eighteen  hundred." 

"A  tremendous  family  to  provide  for!  Spirit,  con- 
duct mc  where  you  will.  I  went  forth  last  night  on 
compulsion,  and  I  learnt  a  lesson  which  is  working  now. 
To-night,  if  you  have  aught  to  teach  me,  let  me  profit 

by  it." 


a  5  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

"  Touch  my  robe  !  " 

Scrooge  did  as  he  was  told,  and  held  it  fast. 

The  room  and  its  contents  all  vanished  instantly,  and 
they  stood  in  the  city  streets  upon  a  snowy  Christmas 
morning. 

Scrooge  and  the  Ghost  passed  on,  invisible,  straight 
to  Scrooge's  clerk's;  and  on  the  threshold  of  the  door 
the  Spirit  smded,  and  stopped  to  bless  Bob  Cratchit's 
dwelling  with  the  sprinklings  of  his  torch.  Think  of 
that!  Bob  had  but  fifteen  "Bob"  a  week  himself;  he 
pocketed  on  Saturdays  but  fifteen  copies  of  his  Christian 
name ;  and  yet  the  Ghost  of  Christmas  Present  blessed 
his  four-roomed  house ! 

Then  up  rose  Mrs.  Cratchit,  Cratchit's  wife,  dressed 
out  but  poorly  in  a  twice-turned  gown,  but  brave  in 
ribbons,  which  are  cheap  and  make  a  goodly  show  for 
sixpence;  and  she  laid  the  cloth,  assisted  by  Belinda 
Cratchit,  second  of  her  daughters,  also  brave  in  ribbons ; 
while  Master  Peter  Cratchit  plunged  a  fork  into  the 
saucepan  of  potatoes,  and,  getting  the  corners  of  his 
monstrous  shirt-collar  (Bob's  private  property,  conferred 
upon  his  son  and  heir  in  honor  of  the  day)  into  his 
mouth,  rejoiced  to  find  himself  so  gallantly  attired,  and 
yearned  to  show  his  linen  in  the  fashionable  Parks.  And 
now  two  smaller  Cratchits,  boy  and  girl,  came  tearing  in, 
screaming  that  outside  the  baker's  they  had  smelt  the 
goose,  and  known  it  for  their  own ;  and,  basking  m 
luxurious  thoughts  of  sage  and  onion,  these  young 
Cratchits  danced  about  the  table,  and  exalted  Master 
Peter  Cratchit  to  the  skies,  while  he  (not  proud,  al- 
though his  collars  nearly  choked  him)  blew  the  fire,  until 


A    CHRISTMAS    CAROL.  29 

the  slow  potatoes,  bubbling  up,  knocked  loudly  at  the 
saucepan-lid  to  be  let  out  and  peeled. 

"  What  has  ever  got  your  precious  father,  then  ? "  said 
Mrs.  Cratcliit.  "And  your  brother  Tiny  Tim!  And 
Martha  warn't  as  late  last  Christmas  day  by  half  an 
hour !  " 

"  Here  's  Martha,  mother !  "  said  a  gii'l,  appearing  as 
she  spoke. 

"  Here 's  Martha,  mother  !  "  cried  the  two  young 
Cratchits.     "  Hurrah !     There  's  such  a  goose,  Martha !  " 

"  Why,  bless  your  heart  alive,  my  dear,  how  late  you 
are  !  "  said  Mrs.  Cratchit,  kissing  her  a  dozen  times,  and 
taking  off  her  shawl  and  bonnet  for  her. 

"  We  'd  a  deal  of  work  to  finish  up  last  night,"  re- 
pHed  the  girl,  "  and  had  to  clear  away  this  morning, 
mother  !  " 

"  Well !  Never  mind  so  long  as  you  are  come,"  said 
Mrs.  Cratchit.  "  Sit  ye  down  before  the  fire,  my  dear, 
and  have  a  warm.  Lord  bless  ye  !  " 

"  No,  no  !  There  's  father  coming,"  cried  the  two 
young  Cratchits,  who  were  evex-ywhere  at  once.  "  Hide, 
Martha,  hide  !  " 

So  Martha  hid  herself,  and  in  came  little  Bob,  the 
father,  with  at  least  three  feet  of  comforter,  exclusive  of 
the  fringe,  hangmg  down  before  him  ;  and  his  thread- 
bare clothes  darned  up  and  brashed,  to  look  seasonable ; 
and  Tiny  Tim  upon  his  shoulder.  Alas  for  Tiny  Tim, 
he  bore  a  Uttle  crutch,  and  had  his  Umbs  supported  by 
an  iron  frame  ! 

"  Why,  where  's  our  Martha  ? "  cried  Bob  Cratchit, 
lookins  round. 


30  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

"  Not  coming,"  said  Mrs.  Cratclii^. 

"  Not  coming !  "  said  Bob,  with  a  sudden  declension 
in  liis  liigli  spirits ;  for  lie  had  been  Tim's  blood-horse 
all  the  way  from  church,  aud  had  come  home  rampant, 
■ —  "  not  coming  upon  Christmas  day  !  " 

Martha  did  n't  Uke  to  see  him  disappointed,  if  it  were 
only  in  joke  ;  so  she  came  out  prematurely  from  behind 
the  closet  door,  aud  ran  into  his  arms,  while  the  two 
young  Cratchits  hustled  Tiny  Tim,  aud  bore  liim  off  into 
the  wash-house  that  he  might  hear  the  puddiug  singing 
in  the  copper. 

"  And  how  did  little  Tim  behave  ?  "  asked  Mrs. 
Cratchit,  when  she  had  rallied  Bob  on  his  credulity,  and 
Bob  had  hugged  his  daughter  to  his  heart's  content. 

"  As  good  as  gold,"  said  Bob,  "  and  better.  Some- 
how he  gets  thoughtfid,  sitting  by  himself  so  much,  and 
thinks  the  strangest  things  you  ever  heard.  He  told  me, 
coming  home,  that  he  hoped  the  people  saw  him  in  the 
church,  because  he  was  a  cripple,  and  it  might  be  pleas- 
ant to  them  to  remember,  upon  Christmas  day,  who  made 
lame  beggars  walk  and  blind  men  see." 

Bob's  voice  was  tremulous  when  he  told  them  this, 
and  trembled  more  when  he  said  that  Tiny  Tim  was 
growing  strong  and  hearty. 

His  active  little  crutch  was  heard  upon  the  floor,  and 
back  came  Tiny  Tim  before  another  word  was  spoken, 
escorted  by  his  brother  and  sister  to  his  stool  beside  the 
fire  ;  and  while  Bob,  turning  up  his  cuffs,  —  as  if,  poor 
fellow,  they  were  capable  of  being  made  more  shabby,  — 
compomided  some  hot  mixture  in  a  jug  with  gin  and 
lemons,  and  stirred  it  round  and  round  and  put  it  on  the 


A   CHRISTMAS    CAUOL.  31 

hob  to  simmer,  Master  Peter  and  the  two  ubiquitous 
young  Cratchits  went  to  fetch  the  goose,  with  which  they 
soon  returned  in  high  procession. 

Mrs.  Cratchit  made  the  gravy  (ready  beforehand  in  a 
little  saucepan)  hissing  hot ;  Master  Peter  mashed  the 
potatoes  with  incredible  vigor ;  Miss  Belinda  sweetened 
up  the  apple-sauce  ;  Martha  dusted  the  hot  plates ;  Bob 
took  Tiny  Tim  beside  him  in  a  tiny  corner  at  the  table ; 
the  two  young  Cratchits  set  chairs  for  everybody,  not 
forgetting  themselves,  and  mounting  guard  upon  their 
posts,  crammed  spoons  into  their  mouths,  lest  they  should 
shriek  for  goose  before  their  turn  came  to  be  helped. 
At  last  the  dishes  were  set  on,  and  grace  was  said. 
It  was  succeeded  by  a  breathless  pause,  as  Mrs.  Cratchit, 
looking  slowly  all  along  .the  carving-knife,  prepared  to 
plunge  it  in  the  breast ;  but  when  she  did,  and  when  the 
long-expected  gush  of  stuffing  issued  forth,  one  murmur 
of  delight  arose  all  round  the  board,  and  even  Tiny  Tim, 
excited  by  the  two  young  Cratchits,  beat  on  the  table 
with  the  handle  of  his  knife,  and  feebly  cried.  Hurrah  ! 

There  never  was  such  a  goose.  Bob  said  he  did  n't 
believe  there  ever  was  such  a  goose  cooked.  Its  ten- 
derness and  flavor,  size  and  cheapness,  were  the  themes 
of  universal  admiration.  Eked  out  by  apple-sauce  and 
mashed  potatoes,  it  was  a  sufficient  dinner  for  the  whole 
family  ;  indeed,  as  Mrs.  Cratchit  said  with  great  delight 
(surveying  one  small  atom  of  a  bone  upon  the  dish),  they 
hadn't  ate  it  all  at  last !  Yet  every  one  had  had  enough, 
and  the  youngest  Cratchits  in  particular  were  steeped  in 
sage  and  onion  to  the  eyebrows  !  But  now,  the  plates 
being  changed  by  Miss  Belinda,  Mrs.  Cratchit  left  the 


32  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

room  alone,  —  too  nervovis  to  bear  witnesses,  —  to  take 
the  pudding  up,  and  bring  it  in. 

Suppose  it  should  not  be  done  enough  !  Suppose  it 
should  break  in  turning  out !  Suppose  somebody  should 
have  got  over  the  wall  of  the  back  yard,  and  stolen  it, 
while  they  were  merry  with  the  goose,  —  a  supposition 
at  which  the  two  young  Cratchits  became  livid !  All 
sorts  of  horrors  were  supposed. 

Hallo  !  A  great  deal  of  steam  !  The  pudding  was 
out  of  the  copper.  A  smell  like  a  washing-day  !  That 
was  the  cloth.  A  smell  like  an  eating-house  and  a  pas- 
try-cook's next  door  to  each  other,  with  a  laundress's 
next  door  to  that !  That  was  the  pudding !  In  half  a 
minute  Mrs.  Cratchit  entered,  —  flushed  but  smiling 
proudly,  —  with  the  pudding,  like  a  speckled  cannon- 
ball,  so  hard  and  firm,  blazing  in  half  of  half  a  quartern  of 
ignited  brandy,  and  bedight  with  Christmas  holly  stuck 
into  the  top. 

O,  a  wonderful  pudding!  Bob  Cratchit  said,  and 
calmly,  too,  that  he  regarded  it  as  the  greatest  success 
achieved  by  Mrs.  Cratchit  smce  their  marriage.  Mrs. 
Cratchit  said  that  now  the  weight  was  off  her  mind,  she 
would  confess  she  had  had  her  doubts  about  the  quantity 
of  flour.  Everybody  had  something  to  say  about  it,  but 
nobody  said  or  thought  it  was  at  all  a  small  pudding  for 
:  a  large  family.  Any  Cratchit  would  have  blushed  to  hint 
at  such  a  thing. 

At  last  the  dinner  was  all  done,  the  cloth  was  cleared, 
the  hearth  swept,  and  the  fire  made  up.  The  compound 
in  the  jug  being  tasted  and  considered  perfect,  apples 
and  oranges  were  put  upon  the  table,  and  a  shovelful  of 
chestnuts  on  the  fire. 


A   CHRISTMAS    CAROL.  33 

Then  all  the  Cratchit  family  drew  round  the  hearth,  in 
what  Bob  Cratchit  called  a  circle,  and  at  Bob  Cratcliit's 
elbow  stood  the  family  display  of  glass,  —  two  tumblers, 
and  a  custard-cup  without  a  handle. 

These  held  the  hot  stuff  from  the  jug,  however,  as  well 
as  golden  goblets  would  have  done  ;  and  Bob  served  it 
out  with  beaming  looks,  while  the  chestnuts  on  the  fire 
sputtered  and  crackled  noisily.     Then  Bob  proposed  :  — 

"  A  Merry  Christmas  to  us  all,  my  dears.     God  bless 


us 


I  " 


Which  all  the  family  re-echoed. 

"  God  bless  us  every  one !  "  said  Tiny  Tim,  the  last 
of  aU. 

He  sat  very  close  to  his  father's  side,  upon  his  little 
stool.  Bob  held  his  withered  little  hfind  in  his,  as  if  he 
loved  the  chUd,  and  wished  to  keep  him  by  his  side,  and 
dreaded  that  he  might  be  taken  from  him. 

Scrooge  raised  his  head  speedily,  on  hearing  his  own 
name. 

"  Mr.  Scrooge  !  "  said  Bob ;  "  I  '11  give  you  Mr. 
Scrooge,  the  Founder  of  the  Peast !  " 

"The  Founder  of  the  Feast,  indeed!"  cried  Mrs. 
Cratchit,  reddening.  "  I  wish  I  had  him  here.  I  'd 
give  him  a  piece  of  my  mind  to  feast  upon,  and  I  hope 
he  'd  have  a  good  appetite  for  it." 

"  My  dear,"  said  Bob,  "  the  children  !    Christmas  day." 

"  It  should  be  Christmas  day,  I  am  sure,"  said  she, 
"  on  which  one  drinks  the  health  of  such  an  odious, 
stingy,  hard,  unfeeling  man  as  Mr.  Scrooge.  You  know 
he  is,  Robert !  Nobody  knows  it  better  than  you  do, 
poor  fellow !  " 

2*  .  0 


34  LITTLE    CLASSICS, 

"  My  dear,"  was  Bob's  mild  answer,  "  Christmas 
day." 

"  I  '11  driiik  his  health  for  your  sake  aud  the  day's," 
said  Mrs.  Cratchit,  "  not  for  his.  Long  life  to  him  !  A 
meiTy  Chx'istmas  and  a  happy  New  Year  !  He  '11  be 
very  merry  and  very  happy,  I  have  no  doubt !  " 

The  children  drank  the  toast  after  her.  It  was  the 
first  of  their  proceedings  which  had  no  heartiness  in  it. 
Tiny  Tim  drank  it  last  of  all,  but  he  did  n't  care  two- 
pence for  it.  Scrooge  was  the  Ogre  of  the  family.  The 
mention  of  his  name  cast  a  dark  shadow  on  the  party, 
which  was  not  dispelled  for  full  five  minutes. 

After  it  had  passed  away,  they  were  ten  times  merrier 
than  before,  from  the  mere  relief  of  Scrooge  the  Baleful 
being  done  with.  Bob  Cratchit  told  them  how  he  had 
a  situation  in  his  eye  for  Master  Peter,  which  would 
bring  in,  if  obtained,  full  five  and  sixpence  weekly. 
The  two  young  Cratchits  laughed  tremendously  at  the 
idea  of  Peter's  being  a  man  of  business ;  and  Peter  him- 
self looked  thoughtfully  at  the  fire  from  between  his 
collars,  as  if  he  were  deliberating  what  particular  invest- 
ments he  should  favor  when  he  came  into  the  receipt  of 
that  bewildering  income.  Martha,  who  was  a  poor  ap- 
prentice at  a  milliner's,  then  told  them  what  kind  of 
work  she  had  to  do,  and  how  many  hours  she  worked  at 
a  stretch,  and  how  she  meant  to  lie  abed  to-morrow  morn- 
ing for  a  good  long  rest ;  to-morrow  being  a  holiday  she 
passed  at  home.  Also  how  she  had  seen  a  countess  and 
a  lord  some  days  before,  and  how  the  lord  "  was  much 
about  as  tail  as  Peter  "  ;  at  which  Peter  pulled  up  his 
collars  so  high  that  you  could  n't  have  seen  his  head  if 


A   CHUISTMAS    CAEOL.  85 

you  had  been  there.  All  this  time  the  chestnuts  and  the 
jug  went  round  and  round ;  and  by  and  by  they  had  a 
song,  about  a  lost  child  travelling  in  the  snow,  from  Tiny 
Tim,  who  had  a  plaintive  little  voice,  and  sang  it  very 
well  indeed. 

There  was  nothing  of  high  mark  in  this.  They  were 
not  a  handsome  family ;  they  were  not  well  dressed ;  their 
shoes  were  far  from  being  water-proof ;  their  clotlies  were 
scanty;  and  Peter  might  have  Icnown,  and  very  likely 
did,  the  inside  of  a  pawnbroker's.  But  they  were  happy, 
grateful,  pleased  with  one  another,  and  contented  with 
the  time ;  and  when  they  faded,  and  looked  happier  yet 
in  the  bright  sprinklings  of  the  Spirit's  torch  at  part- 
ing, Scrooge  had  his  eye  upon  them,  and  especially  on 
Tiny  Tim,  until  the  last. 

It  was  a  great  surprise  to  Scrooge,  as  this  scene  van- 
ished, to  hear  a  hearty  laugh.  It  was  a  much  greater 
surprise  to  Scrooge  to  recognize  it  as  his  own  nephew's, 
and  to  find  himself  in  a  bright,  dry,  gleaming  room,  with 
the  Spirit  standing  smiling  by  his  side,  and  looking  at 
that  same  nephew. 

It  is  a  fair,  even-handed,  noble  adjustment  of  things, 
that  while  there  is  infection  in  disease  and  sorrow,  there 
is  nothing  in  the  world  so  irresistibly  contagious  as  laugh- 
ter and  good-humor.  When  Scrooge's  nephew  laughed, 
Scrooge's  niece  1)y  marriage  laughed  as  heartily  as  he. 
And  their  assembled  friends,  being  not  a  bit  behindhand, 
laughed  out  lustily. 

"  He  said  that  Christmas  was  a  humbug,  as  I  live  ! " 
cried  Scrooge's  nephew.     "  He  believed  it  too  !  " 

"  More  shame  for  liim,  Fred ! "  said  Scrooge's  niece. 


36  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

indignantly.  Bless  those  women !  they  never  do  any- 
thing by  halves.     They  are  always  in  earnest. 

She  was  very  pretty,  exceeduigly  pretty.  With  a 
dimpled,  surprised-looking,  capital  face ;  a  ripe  httle 
mouth  that  seemed  made  to  be  kissed,  —  as  no  doubt  it 
was  ;  all  kinds  of  good  Uttle  dots  about  her  dim,  that 
melted  into  one  another  when  she  laughed  ;  and  the  sun- 
niest pair  of  eyes  you  ever  saw  in  any  httle  creature's 
head.  Altogether  she  was  what  you  would  have  called 
provoking,  but  satisfactory,  too.  0,  perfectly  satisfac- 
tory ! 

"  He  's  a  comical  old  fellow,"  said  Scrooge's  nenhew, 
"  that 's  the  truth ;  and  not  so  pleasant  as  he  might  be. 
However,  his  offences  carry  their  own  punishment,  and 
I  have  nothing  to  say  against  him.  Who  suffers  by  his 
ill  whims  ?  Himself,  always.  Here  he  takes  it  into  his 
head  to  dislike  us,  and  he  won't  come  and  dine  with  us. 
Wliat  's  the  consequence  ?  He  don't  lose  much  of  a 
dinner." 

"  Indeed,  I  think  he  loses  a  very  good  diimer,"  inter- 
rupted Scrooge's  niece.  Everybody  else  said  the  same, 
and  they  must  be  allowed  to  have  been  competent  judges, 
because  they  had  just  had  dinner;  and,  with  the  dessert 
upon  the  table,  were  clustered  round  the  fire,  by  lamp- 
light. 

"Well,  I  am  very  glad  to  hear  it,"  said  Scrooge's 
nephew,  "because  I  haven't  any  great  faith  in  these 
young  housekeepers.     Wliat  do  you  say.  Topper  ?  " 

Topper  clearly  had  his  eye  on  one  of  Scrooge's  niece's 
sisters,  for  he  answered  that  a  bachelor  was  a  wretched 
outcast,  who  had  no  right  to  express  an  opinion  on  the 


A    CHRISTMAS    CAROL.  '67 

subject.  Whereat  Scrooge's  niece's  sister  —  the  plump 
one  with  the  lace  tucker,  not  the  one  with  the  roses  — 
blushed. 

After  tea  they  had  some  music.  For  they  were  a 
musical  family,  and  knew  what  they  were  about,  when 
they  sung  a  Glee  or  Catch,  I  can  assure  you,  —  espe- 
cially Topper,  who  could  growl  away  in  the  bass  like  a 
good  one,  and  never  swell  the  large  veins  in  his  fore- 
head, or  get  red  in  the  face  over  it. 

But  they  didn't  devote  the  whole  evening  to  music. 
After  a  while  they  played  at  forfeits ;  for  it  is  good  to 
be  children  sometimes,  and  never  better  than  at  Christ- 
mas, when  its  mighty  Founder  was  a  child  himself. 
There  was  first  a  game  at  bluid-man's-buif,  though.  And 
I  no  more  believe  Topper  was  really  blinded  than  I  be- 
lieve he  had  eyes  in  his  boots.  Because  the  way  in. 
which  he  went  after  that  plump  sister  in  the  lace  tucker 
was  an  outrage  on  the  credulity  of  human  nature. 
Knocking  down  the  fire-irons,  tumblmg  over  the  chairs, 
bumphig  up  against  the  piano,  smothering  himself  among 
the  curtains,  wherever  she  went  there  went  he !  He 
always  knew  where  the  plump  sister  was.  He  would  n't 
catch  anybody  else.  If  you  had  fallen  up  against  him, 
as  some  of  them  did,  and  stood  there,  he  would  have 
made  a  feint  of  endeavoring  to  seize  you,  which  would 
have  been  an  aifront  to  your  understanding,  and  would 
instantly  have  sidled  off  in  the  direction  of  the  plump 
sister. 

"Here  is  a  new  game,"  said  Scrooge.  "One  half- 
hour,  Spirit,  only  one  !  " 

It  was  a  Game  called  Yes  and  No,  where  Scrooge's 


38  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

nepliew  had  to  tliink  of  something,  and  the  rest  must 
find  out  what ;  he  only  auswermg  to  their  questions  yes 
or  no,  as  the  case  was.  The  fire  of  questioning  to  which 
he  was  exposed  ehcited  from  him  that  he  was  thiukiag 
of  an  animal,  a  live  animal,  rather  a  disagreeable  animal, 
a  savage  animal,  an  animal  that  growled  and  grunted 
sometimes,  and  talked  sometimes,  and  hved  in  London, 
and  walked  about  the  streets,  and  was  n't  made  a  show 
of,  and  was  n't  led  by  anybody,  and  did  n't  hve  in  a 
menagerie,  and  was. never  killed  in  a  market,  and  was 
not  a  horse,  or  an  ass,  or  a  cow,  or  a  bull,  or  a  tiger,  or 
a  dog,  or  a  pig,  or  a  cat,  or  a  bear.  At  every  new  ques- 
tion put  to  him,  this  nephew  burst  into  a  fresh  roar  of 
laughter ;  and  was  so  inexpressibly  tickled,  that  he  was 
obhged  to  get  up  oif  the  sofa  and  stamp.  At  last  the 
plump  sister  cried  out,  — 

"  I  have  found  it  out !  I  know  what  it  is,  Fred !  1 
know  what  it  is  !  " 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  cried  Fred. 

"  It 's  your  uncle  Scro-o-o-o-oge  !  " 

Which  it  certauily  was.  Admiration  was  the  universal 
sentiment,  though  some  olDJected  that  the  reply  to  "Is 
it  a  bear  ?  "  ought  to  have  been  "  Yes." 

Uncle  Scrooge  had  imperceptibly  become  so  gay  and 
light  of  heart,  that  he  would  have  drank  to  the  uncon- 
scious company  in  an  inaudible  speech.  But  the  whole 
scene  passed  off  ia  the  breath  of  the  last  word  spoken 
by  his  nephew ;  and  he  and  the  Spirit  were  again  upon 
their  travels. 

Much  they  saw,  and  far  they  went,  and  many  homes 
they  visited,  but  always  with  a  happy  end.     The  Spirit 


A    CHRISTMAS    CAROL.  39 

stood  beside  sick-beds,  and  they  were  cheerful ;  on  for- 
eigu  lands,  and  they  were  close  at  home ;  by  struggling 
men,  and  they  were  patient  in  their  greater  hope ;  by 
poverty,  and  it  was  rich.  In  almshouse,  hospital,  and 
jail,  in  misery's  every  refuge,  where  vain  man  in  his 
little  brief  authority  had  not  made  fast  the  door,  and 
barred  the  Spirit  out,  he  left  his  blessing,  and  taught 
Scrooge  his  precepts.  Suddenly,  as  they  stood  together 
in  an  open  place,  the  bell  struck  twelve. 

Scrooge  looked  about  him  for  the  Ghost,  and  saw  it 
no  more.  As  the  last  stroke  ceased  to  vibrate,  he  re- 
membered the  prediction  of  old  Jacob  Marley,  and,  lift- 
ing up  his  eyes,  beheld  a  solemn  Phantom,  draped  and 
hooded,  coming  like  a  mist  along  the  ground  towards 
him. 


STAVE    FOUR. 

THE   LAST   OF   THE   SPIRITS. 

The  Phantom  slowly,  gravely,  silently  approached. 
When  it  came  near  him,  Scrooge  bent  down  upon  his 
knee ;  for  in  the  air  through  which  this  Spirit  moved  it 
seemed  to  scatter  gloom  and  mystery. 

It  was  shrouded  in  a  deep  black  garment,  which  con- 
cealed its  head,  its  face,  its  form,  and  left  no  tiling  of  it 
visible  save  one  outstretched  hand.  He  knew  no  more, 
for  the  Spirit  neither  spoke  nor  moved. 

"  I  am  in  the  presence  of  the  Ghost  of  Christmas  Yet 
To  Come  ?  Ghost  of  the  Future  !  I  fear  you  more 
than  any  spectre  I  have  seen.    But  as  I  know  your 


40  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

purpose  is  to  do  me  good,  and  as  I  hope  to  live  to  be 
another  man  from  what  I  was,  I  am  prepared  to  bear 
you  company,  and  do  it  with  a  thankful  heart.  WiU 
you  not  speak  to  me  ?  " 

It  gave  him  no  reply.  The  hand  was  pointed  straight 
before  them. 

"  Lead  ou  !  Lead  on !  The  night  is  waning  fast,  and 
it  is  precious  time  to  me,  I  know.     Lead  on.  Spirit !  " 

They  scarcely  seemed  to  enter  the  city;  for  the  city 
rather  seemed  to  spring  up  about  them.  But  there  they 
were  in  the  heart  of  it ;  ou  'Change,  amongst  the  mer- 
chants. 

The  Spirit  stopped  beside  one  little  knot  of  business 
men.  Observing  that  the  hand  was  pointed  to  them, 
Scrooge  advanced  to  listen  to  their  talk. 

"No,"  said  a  great  fat  man  with  a  monstrous  chin, 
"  I  don't  know  much  about  it  either  way.  I  only  know 
he^'s  dead." 

"  When  did  he  die  ?  "  inquired  another. 

"  Last  night,  I  believe." 

"Why,  what  was  the  matter  with  him?  I  thought 
he  'd  never  die." 

"  God  knows,"  said  the  first,  with  a  yawn. 

"  What  has  he  done  with  his  money  ?  "  asked  a  red- 
faced  gentleman. 

"  I  have  n't  heard,"  said  the  man  with  the  large  chin. 
"  Company,  perhaps.  He  has  n't  left  it  to  me.  That 's 
all  I  know.     By,  by  !  " 

Scrooge  was  at  first  iuclhied  to  be  surprised  that  the 
Spirit  should  attach  importance  to  conversation  appar- 
ently so  trivial;  but  feeling  assured  that  it  must  have 


A    CHRISTMAS    CAROL.  41 

some  hidden  purpose,  he  set  liimself  to  consider  what 
it  was  likely  to  be.  It  could  scarcely  be  supposed  to 
have  any  bearing  on  the  death  of  Jacob,  his  old  partner, 
for  that  %yas  Past,  and  this  Ghost's  province  was  the 
Future. 

He  looked  about  in  that  very  place  for  his  own  image ; 
but  another  man  stood  in  his  accustomed  corner,  and 
though  the  clock  pointed  to  his  usual  time  of  day  for 
being  there,  he  saw  no  Likeness  of  himself  among  the 
multitudes  that  poured  in  through  the  Porch.  It  gave 
him  little  surprise,  however ;  for  he  had  been  revolving 
in  his  mind  a  change  of  life,  and  he  thought  and  hoped 
he  saw  his  new-born  resolutions  carried  out  in  this. 

Th'jy  left  this  busy  scene,  and  went  into  an  obscure 
part  of  the  town,  to  a  low  shop  where  iron,  old  rags, 
bottles,  bones,  and  greasy  offal  were  bought.  A  gray- 
haired  rascal,  of  great  age,  sat  smoking  his  pipe. 

Scrooge  and  the  Phantom  came  into  the  presence  of 
this  man,  just  as  a  woman  with  a  heavy  bundle  slunlc 
into  the  shop.  But  she  had  scarcely  entered,  when 
another  woman,  similarly  laden,  came  iu  too;  and  she 
was  closely  followed  by  a  man  in  faded  black.  After  a 
short  period  of  blank  astonishment,  in  which  the  old 
man  with,  the  pipe  had  joined  them,  they  aU  three  burst 
into  a  laugh. 

"  Let  the  charwoman  alone  to  be  the  first !  "  cried  she 
who  had  entered  first.  "  Let  the  laundress  alone  to  be 
the  second ;  and  let  the  undertaker's  man  alone  to  be 
the  third.  Look  here,  old  Joe,  here  's  a  chance  !  If  wc 
have  n't  all  three  met  here  without  meaning  it !  " 

"  You  could  n't  have  met  in  a  better  place.     You  were 


42  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

made  free  of  it  long  ago,  you  know ;  and  the  otlier  two 
ain't  strangers.  What  have  you  got  to  sell?  What 
have  you  got  to  sell  ?  " 

"  Half  a  minute's  patience,  Joe,  and  you  shall  see." 

"  What  odds  then !  What  odds,  Mrs.  Dilber  ?  "  said 
the  woman.  "Every  person  has  a  right  to  take  care 
of  themselves.  He  always  did !  "VVho  's  the  worse  for 
the  loss  of  a  few  things  like  these  ?  Not  a  dead  man, 
I  suppose." 

Mrs.  Dilber,  whose  manner  was  remarkable  for  gen- 
eral propitiation,  said,  "  No,  indeed,  ma'am." 

"  If  he  wanted  to  keep  'em  after  he  was  dead,  a  wicked 
old  screw,  why  was  n't  he  natural  in  his  hfetime  ?  If 
he  had  been,  he  'd  liave  had  somebody  to  look  after  Lim 
when  he  was  struck  with  Death,  instead  of  lying  gasping 
out  his  last  there,  alone  by  himself." 

"It's  the  truest  word  that  ever  was  spoke;  it's  a 
judgment  on  him." 

"  I  wish  it  was  a  httle  heavier  judgment,  and  it  should 
have  been,  you  may  depend  upon  it,  if  I  could  have  laid 
my  hands  on  anything  else.  Open  that  bundle,  old  Joe, 
and  let  me  know  the  value  of  it.  Speak  out  plain.  I  'm 
not  afraid  to  be  the  first,  nor  afraid  for  them  to  see  it." 

Joe  went  down  on  his  knees  for  the  greater  conven- 
ience of  opening  the  bundle,  and  dragged  out  a  large 
and  heavy  roU  of  some  dark  stuff". 

"  What  do  you  call  this  ?     Bed-curtains  !  " 

"Ah!  Bed-curtains!  Don't  drop  that  oil  upon  the 
blankets,  now." 

"J/«  blankets?" 

"  Whose  else's,  do  you  think  ?    He  is  n't  likely  to  take 


A   CHRISTMAS    CAROL.  43 

cold  without  'em,  I  dare  say.  Ah!  You  may  look 
through  that  shirt  till  your  eyes  ache;  but  you  won't 
fiud  a  hole  in  it,  nor  a  threadbare  place.  It 's  the  best 
he  had,  and  a  fine  one  too.  They  'd  have  wasted  it  by 
dressing  him  up  in  it,  if  it  had  n't  been  for  me." 

Scrooge  listened  to  this  dialogue  in  hoiTor. 

"  Spirit !  I  see,  I  see.  The  case  of  this  unhappy 
man  might  be  my  own.  ]\Iy  life  tends  that  way  now. 
Merciful  Heaven,  what  is  this  ?  " 

The  scene  had  changed,  and  now  he  almost  touched  a 
bare,  uncurtained  bed.  A  pale  light,  rising  in  the  outer 
air,  fell  straight  upon  this  bed;  and  on  it,  luiwatched, 
unwept,  uucared  for,  was  the  body  of  this  plundered  un- 
known man. 

"  Spirit,  let  me  see  some  tenderness  connected  with  a 
death,  or  this  dark  cliamber.  Spirit,  will  be  forever  pres- 
ent to  me." 

The  Ghost  conducted  him  to  poor  Bob  Cratchit's 
house,  —  the  dwelling  he  had  visited  before,  —  and  found 
the  mother  and  the  cliildren  seated  round  the  fire. 

Quiet.  Very  quiet.  The  noisy  little  Cratchits  were 
as  still  as  statues  in  one  corner,  and  sat  looking  up  at 
Peter,  who  had  a  book  before  liim.  The  mother  and  her 
daughters  were  engaged  in  needlework.  But  surely 
they  were  very  quiet '. 

"'And  he  took  a  child,  and  set  him  in  the  midst  of 
them.'  " 

Where  bad  Scrooge  heard  those  words  ?  He  had  not 
dreamed  them.  The  boy  must  have  read  them  out,  as 
be  and  the  Spirit  crossed  the  threshold.  Why  did  he 
not  go  ou  ? 


44  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

The  motlier  laid  lier  work  upon  tlie  table,  and  put  her 
hand  up  to  her  face. 

"  The  color  hurts  my  eyes,"  she  said. 

The  color  ?    Ah,  poor  Tmy  Tim  ! 

"  They  're  better  now  again.  It  makes  them  weak  by 
candle-light ;  and  I  would  n't  show  weak  eyes  to  your 
father  when  he  comes  home,  for  the  world.  It  must  be 
near  his  time." 

"Past  it,  rather,"  Peter  answered,  shutting  up  his 
book.  "  But  I  think  he  has  walked  a  little  slower  than 
he  used,  these  few  last  eveuiugs,  mother." 

"I  have  known  him  walk  with  —  I  have  known  him 
walk  with  Tiny  Tim  upon  liis  shoulder,  very  fast  indeed." 

"And  so  have  I,"  cried  Peter.     "Often." 

"And  so  have  I,"  exclaimed  another.     So  had  all. 

"  But  he  was  very  hght  to  carry,  and  his  father  loved 
him  so,  that  it  was  no  trouble,  —  no  trouble.  And  there 
is  your  father  at  the  door  !  " 

She  hurried  out  to  meet  him ;  and  little  Bob  in  his 
comforter  —  he  had  need  of  it,  poor  fellow  —  came  in. 
His  tea  was  ready  for  him  on  the  hob,  and  they  all  tried 
who  should  help  him  to  it  most.  Then  the  two  young 
Cratchits  got  upon  his  knees  and  laid,  each  child,  a  little 
cheek  against  his  face,  as  if  they  said,  "Don't  mind  it, 
father.     Don't  be  grieved  !  " 

Bob  was  very  cheerful  with  them,  and  spoke  pleasantly 
to  all  the  family.  He  looked  at  the  work  upon  the  table, 
and  praised  the  industry  and  speed  of  Mrs.  Cratchit  and 
the  girls.  They  would  be  done  long  before  Sunday,  he 
said. 

"  Sunday !     You  went  to-day,  then,  Robert  ?  " 


A    CHRISTMAS    CAROL.  45 

"  Yes,  my  dear,"  retiu'ned  Bob.  "  I  wish  you  coixld 
have  gone.  It  would  have  done  you  good  to  see  how 
green  a  place  it  is.  But  you  '11  see  it  often.  I  promised 
him  that  I  would  walk  there  on  a  Sunday.  My  little, 
little  child  !     My  Uttle  child  !  " 

He  broke  down  all  at  once.  He  could  n't  help  it.  If 
he  could  have  helped  it,  he  and  his  child  would  have 
been  farther  apart,  perhaps,  than  they  were. 

"  Spectre,"  said  Scrooge,  "  somethmg  informs  me  that 
our  parting  moment  is  at  hand.  I  know  it,  but  I  know 
not  how.  Tell  me  what  man  that  was,  with  the  covered 
face,  whom  we  saw  lying  dead  ?  " 

The  Ghost  of  Christmas  Yet  To  Come  conveyed  him 
to  a  dismal,  wretched,  ruinous  churchyard. 

The  Spirit  stood  among  the  graves,  and  pointed  down 
to  One. 

"  Before  I  draw  nearer  to  that  stone  to  which  you 
pouit,  answer  me  one  question.  Are  these  the  shadows 
of  the  things  that  Will  be,  or  are  they  shadows  of  the 
things  that  May  be  only  ? " 

Still  the  Ghost  pointed  downward  to  the  grave  by 
which  it  stood. 

"Men's  courses  will  foreshadow  certain  ends,  to 
which,  if  persevered  in,  they  must  lead.  But  if  the 
courses  be  departed  from,  the  ends  will  change.  Say  it 
is  thus  with  what  you  show  me !  " 

The  Spirit  was  immovable  as  ever. 

Scrooge  crept  towards  it,  trembling  as  he  went ;  and, 
following  the  finger,  read  upon  the  stone  of  the  neglected 
grave  his  own  name,  — Ebenezer  Scrooge. 

"  AxQ  /  that  man  who  lay  upon  the  bed  ?     No,  Spirit ! 


46  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

0  no,  no  !     Spirit !  heai*  me  !     I  am  not  the  man  I  was. 

1  will  not  be  tlie  man  I  must  have  been  but  for  this  in- 
tercourse. Why  show  me  this,  if  I  am  past  all  hope  ? 
Assure  me  that  I  yet  may  change  these  shadows  you 
have  shown  me  by  an  altered  life." 

Por  the  first  time  the  kind  hand  faltered. 

"  I  will  honor  Christmas  in  my  heart,  and  try  to  keep 
it  all  the  year.  I  will  live  in  the  Past,  the  Present,  and 
the  Future.  The  Spirits  of  all  three  shall  strive  within 
me.  I  will  not  shut  out  the  lessons  that  they  teach.  0, 
tell  me  I  may  sponge  away  the  writing  on  this  stone  !  " 

Holding  up  his  hands  in  one  last  prayer  to  have  his 
fate  reversed,  he  saw  an  alteration  in  the  Phantom's 
hood  and  dress.  It  shrunk,  collapsed,,  and  dwindled 
down  into  a  bedpost. 

Yes,  and  the  bedpost  was  his  own.  The  bed  was  his 
own,  the  room  was  his  own.  Best  and  happiest  of  all, 
the  Time  before  him  was  his  own,  to  make  amends  in  ! 

He  was  checked  in  his  transports  by  the  churches 
ringing  out  the  lustiest  peals  he  had  ever  heard. 

Running  to  the  window,  he  opened  it,  and  put  out  his 
head.  No  fog,  no  mist,  no  night ;  clear,  bright,  stirring, 
golden  day. 

"  What 's  to-day  ?  "  ci'ied  Scrooge,  calling  downward 
to  a  boy  in  Sunday  clothes,  who  perhaps  had  loitered  in 
to  look  about  him. 

"  En  ?  " 

"  What 's  to-day,  my  fine  fellow  ?  " 

"  To-day  !    Why,  Christmas  day." 

"  It 's  Christmas  day  !  I  have  n't  missed  it.  Hallo, 
my  fine  fellow !  " 


A   CHRISTMAS    CAROL.  47 

«  Hallo ! " 

"  Do  you  know  tlie  Poulterer's,  in  the  next  street  but 
one,  at  the  corner  ?  " 

"  I  should  hope  I  did." 

"  An  intelhgent  boy  !  A  remarkable  boy  !  Do  you 
know  whether  they  've  sold  the  prize  Turkey  that  was 
hanging  up  there  ?  Not  the  little  prize  Tui'key,  — •  the 
big  one  ?  " 

"  What,  the  one  as  big  as  me  ?  " 

"  What  a  delightful  boy !  It 's  a  pleasure  to  talk  to 
him.     Yes,  my  buck  !  " 

"  It 's  hanging  there  now." 

"  Is  it  ?     Go  and  buy  it." 

"  Walk-EE !  "  exclaimed  the  boy. 

"No,  no,  I  am  in  earnest.  Go  and  buy  it,  and  tell 
'em  to  bring  it  here,  that  I  may  give  them  the  direction 
where  to  take  it.  Come  back  with  the  man,  and  I  '11 
give  you  a  shilling.  Come  back  with  him  in  less  than 
five  minutes,  and  I  '11  give  you  half  a  crown  !  " 

The  boy  was  off  like  a  shot. 

"  I  'II  send  it  to  Bob  Cratchit's  !  He  sha'  n't  know 
who  sends  it.  It 's  twice  the  size  of  Tiny  Tim.  Joe 
Miller  never  made  such  a  joke  as  sending  it  to  Bob's 
will  be !  " 

The  hand  in  which  he  wrote  the  address  was  not  a 
steady  one;  but  write  it  he  did,  somehow,  and  went 
down  stairs  to  open  the  street  door,  ready  for  the  com- 
ing of  the  poulterer's  man. 

"  It  was  a  Turkey  !  He  never  could  have  stood  upon 
his  legs,  that  bird.  He  would  have  snapped  'em  short 
off  in  a  minute,  like  sticks  of  seaUng-wax. 


48  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

Scrooge  dressed  himself  "  all  in  liis  best,"  and  at  last 
got  out  into  the  streets.  The  people  vrere  by  this  time 
pouring  forth,  as  he  had  seen  them  with  the  Ghost  of 
Christmas  Present ;  and,  walking  with  his  hands  behind 
him,  Scrooge  regarded  every  one  with  a  delighted  smile. 
He  looked  so  irresistibly  pleasant,  in  a  word,  that  three 
or  four  good-humored  fellows  said,  "  Good  morning,  sir  ! 
A  merry  Christmas  to  you !  "  And  Scrooge  said  often 
afterwards,  that,  of  all  the  blithe  sounds  he  had  ever 
heard,  those  were  the  blithest  in  his  ears. 

In  the  afternoon,  he  turned  his  steps  towards  his 
nephew's  house. 

He  passed  the  door  a  dozen  times,  before  he  had  the 
courage  to  go  up  and  knock.  But  he  made  a  dash,  and 
did  it. 

"  Is  your  master  at  home,  my  dear  ?  "  said  Scrooge  to 
the  girl.     Nice  girl !     Very. 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  Where  is  he,  my  love  ?  " 

"He  's  in  the  dining-room,  sir,  along  with  mistress." 

"  He  knows  me,"  said  Scrooge,  with  his  hand  already 
on  the  dining-room  lock.     "  I  '11  go  in  here,  my  dear." 

"  Fred  !  " 

"  Why,  bless  my  soul !  "  cried  Ered,  "  who 's  that  ?  " 

"  It 's  I.  Your  uncle  Scrooge.  I  have  come  to  din- 
ner.    Will  you  let  me  in,  Fred  ?  " 

Let  liim  in  !  It  is  a  mercy  he  did  n't  shake  his  arm 
off.  He  was  at  home  in  five  minutes.  Nothing  could 
be  heartier.  His  niece  looked  just  the  same.  So  did 
Topper  when  ke  came.  So  did  the  j^hinip  sister  when 
she  came.     So  did  every  one  when  they  came.     Won- 


A    CHRISTMAS    CAROL.  49 

derful  party,  wonderful  games,  wonderful  unanimity, 
won-der-ful  happiness ! 

But  he  was  early  at  the  oifice  next  morning.  0,  he 
was  early  there !  If  lie  could  only  be  there  first,  and 
catch  Bob  Cratchit  coming  late  !  That  was  the  thmg  he 
had  set  his  lieart  upon. 

And  he  did  it.  The  clock  struck  nine.  No  Bob.  A 
quarter  past.  No  Bob.  Bob  was  full  eighteen  minutes 
and  a  half  behind  his  time.  Scrooge  sat  with  his  door 
wide  open,  that  he  might  see  him  come  mto  the  Tank. 

Bob's  hat  was  off  before  he  opened  the  door ;  his  com- 
forter too.  He  was  on  his  stool  in  a  jiffy  ;  driving  away 
with  his  pen,  as  if  he  were  trying  to  overtake  nine 
o'clock. 

"  Hallo !  "  growled  Scrooge  in  his  accustomed  voice, 
as  near  as  he  coidd  feign  it.  "What  do  you  mean  by 
coming  here  at  this  time  of  day  ?  " 

"  I  am  very  sorry,  sir.     I  am  behind  my  time." 

"  You  are  ?  Yes.  I  think  you  are.  Step  this  way, 
if  you  please." 

"  It 's  only  once  a  year,  sir.  It  shall  not  be  repeated. 
I  was  making  rather  merry  yesterday,  sir." 

"  Now,  I  '11  tell  you  what,  my  friend.  I  am  not  going 
to  stand  this  sort  of  thing  any  longer.  And  therefore," 
Scrooge  continued,  leaping  from  his  stool,  and  giving 
Bob  such  a  dig  in  the  waistcoat  that  he  staggered  back 
into  the  Tank  again,  —  "and  therefore  I  am  about  to 
raise  your  salary  !  " 

Bob  trembled,  and  got  a  little  nearer  to  the  ruler. 

"A  merry  Christmas,  Bob!"  said  Scrooge,  with  an 
earnestness  that  could  not  be  mistaken,  as  he  clapped 

VOL.  V.  3  D 


50  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

Mm  on  the  back.  "  A  merrier  Christmas,  Bob,  my  good 
fellow,  than  I  have  given  you  for  many  a  year !  I  '11 
raise  your  salary,  and  endeavor  to  assist  your  struggling 
family,  and  we  will  discuss  your  affairs  this  very  after- 
noon, over  a  Christmas  bowl  of  smoking  bishop,  Bob ! 
Make  up  the  fires,  and  buy  a  second  coal-scuttle  before 
you  dot  another  i.  Bob  Cratchit !  " 

Scrooge  was  better  than  his  word.  He  did  it  all,  and 
infinitely  more ;  and  to  Tiny  Tim,  who  did  Is'ot  die,  he 
was  a  second  father.  He  became  as  good  a  friend,  as 
good  a  master,  and  as  good  a  man  as  the  good  old  city 
knew,  or  any  other  good  old  city,  iovra,  or  borough  in 
the  good  old  world.  Some  people  laughed  to  see  the 
alteration  in  him ;  but  his  own  heart  laughed,  and  that 
■was  quite  enough  for  him. 

He  had  no  further  intercourse  with  spirits,  but  lived 
in  that  respect  upon  the  total-abstiueuce  principle  ever 
afterward ;  and  it  was  always  said  of  hiui,  that  he  knew 
how  to  keep  Christmas  well,  if  any  man  alive  possessed 
the  knowledge.  May  that  be  truly  said  of  us,  and  all  of 
us  !  And  so,  as  Tiny  Tim  observed,  God  bless  us,  every 
one  ! 

Note.  —  The  shorter  version  of  the  Christmas  Caeol,  condensed  by 
Dickens  himself  for  his  public  readings,  has  been  chosen  for  use  here, 
both  because  this  collection  is  partly  intended  for  social  readings  and  be- 
cause in  the  editor's  opinion  the  condensation  improved  the  story. 


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THE   HAUNTED   CRUST. 


BY  KATHERINE  SAUNDERS. 


AN'T  you  remember  Jerry  Rouse,  sir,  the  little 
cobbler  of  Pickersgill  ?  How  should  you, 
though  ?  Poor  Jerry !  I  suppose  his  busy 
little  fingers  were  stiff  and  cold  in  his  coffin  before  you 
saw  the  light. 

It  was  on  a  Christmas  eve,  forty  years  ago,  that  that 
poor  little  cobbler,  who  lies  in  the  churchyard  yonder, 
nothing  but  senseless  dust,  was  a  piece  of  living  iiesh 
and  blood,  suiFering  and  shaking  imder  such  a  temptation, 
that  if  I  told  what  it  was,  and  that  he  gave  way  to  it, 
there  are  those  who  would  n't  let  him  rest  in  peace  among 
their  kith  and  kin,  —  no,  not  now,  though  it 's  forty  years 
ago  ;  tliey  'd  go  and  tear  his  bones  out  of  their  grave  this 
very  night,  —  this  very  instant. 

Now,  at  the  time  I  'm  speaking  of,  the  street  running 
down  to  the  river  was  the  High  Street  of  Pickersgill,  and 
what  tliey  call  the  High  Street  now  was  a  long,  close 
court,  called  Gadshill-in-the-Fields.  Come,  come,  Mis- 
tress Sicklemore,  you  're  not  so  young  but  you  remember 
that,  surely?     And  you  remember  Jerry,  now,  I'll  be 


52  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

bound.  Call  him  to  mind,  —  a  little  man,  know  you,  a 
tiny  little  man,  with  coal-black  eyes  and  hair,  and  a  pale, 
sickly,  happy  little  face.  Have  n't  you  seen  him  sitting 
at  the  open  window  of  number  three,  the  dirtiest  house 
in  the  court  ?  Of  course  you  have ;  and  his  black-eyed, 
ragged  little  children  playing  outside. 

His  wife,  Nance,  was  a  well-looking  body  enough  in 
her  day,  but  such  a  scold,  and  such  a  dirty,  muddling 
kind  of  woman,  that  if  Jerry  had  n't  had  her,  nobody 
else  would.  She  set  her  cap  at  me  once,  did  Nance ; 
but  there !  what  kind  of  cap  was  it  ?  so  black  you 
wouldn't  have  picked  it  np  in  the  street.  However, 
Jerry  had  a  kind  heart,  you  know;  aud  seeing  how 
Nance  was  getting  a  longish  way  on  the  other  side  of 
her  teens,  and  sourer  and  sourer  every  day,  out  of  very 
charity  he  went  to  her  mother,  who  was  beginning  to 
scout  her,  and  says  he,  — 

"  Mistress  Jessop,  will  you  put  in  a  word  for  me  with 
Nance  ?  I  have  n't  a  farthing  till  I  get  paid  for  heeling 
these  boots  in  my  hand,"  he  says.  "  I  earn  my  bread 
from  hand  to  mouth,  but  I  think  I  could  earn  Nance's 
too,  if  she  'd  be  so  kind  as  to  say  yes." 

"  Do  you  know  what  kind  of  a  temper  she  is  ?  "  says 
Nance's  mother. 

"  Yes,  ma'am,"  says  JeiTy ;  "  but  not  having  much 
temper  myself,  I  think  we  might  get  along  very  well." 

"  Do  you  know  she 's  the  dirtiest  thing  about  a  house 
that  ever  was  ?  " 

"  Tliat,  ma'am,"  said  Jerry,  "  is  the  chief  consideration ; 
I  knoAv  there 's  not  another  woman  in  Pickersgill  would 
put  up  with  my  ways  in  that  respect,  for  I  can't  abide 


THE    HAUNTED    CEUST.  53 

cleauiug,  ma'am ;  wet  boards,  and  the  sight  of  pails  of 
water  about,  would  be  the  death  of  me.  So,  if  you  see 
uo  objectious  youi'seif,  and  Nance  'ud  be  so  very  kind,  I 
think,  ma'am,  as  it  'ud  be  a  very  happy  union." 

And  so  it  was,  in  Jerry's  opinion ;  and  I  suppose  he 
was  the  best  judge,  was  n't  he  ?  Nance  Jessop  kept 
to  her  part  in  the  agreement,  at  any  rate ;  for  a  dirtier 
place  than  Jerry's  little  house  at  Gadshill-iu-the-Fields, 
and  dirtier  children  than  Jerry's  seven,  you  would  n't 
light  on  in  a  month's  march. 

I  say  seven;  but,  now,  Jerry's  eldest  girl  was  an 
exception  to  all  the  rest.  She  grew  up  as  fair  and  clean, 
in  all  that  dirt,  as  a  flower  '11  grow  up  out  of  the  moiild 
that 's  nourished  it.  I  've  looked  at  her  as  I  've  come 
through  the  court  many  a  time,  and  never  been  able  to 
get  her  face  from  before  my  eye  aU  day  afterwards. 
There  'ud  be  five  black-eyed,  big-headed  little  things 
moping  about  in  the  dirt,  some  inside  the  door,  and  some 
out,  while  Jerry  sat  in  his  window  whistling  over  his 
work ;  and  there  on  the  doorstep  'ud  be  httle  Mercy. 
1  've  seen  her  sitting  there  a  good  many  times,  yet  I  've 
never  seen  the  same  look  on  that  child's  face  twice  in  my 
life ;  she  seemed  always  so  different  from  the  others,  so 
busy  in  her  thoughts.  I  never  saw  her  play,  ever  since 
she  was  out  of  her  mother's  arms ;  she  seemed  to  do  noth- 
ing but  sit  and  read,  and  nurse  babies  on  the  doorstep. 

Once,  when  I  was  having  a  gossip  with  Jerry,  —  who 
had  his  share  of  tongue,  I  can  tell  you,  —  some  boys 
in  the  court  got  teasing  little  humpbacked  Tommy,  and 
Mercy's  face  got  quite  fierce  as  she  watched  theni.  She 
asked  Jerry  to  speak  to  them  two  or  three  times,  but  he 


54  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

al'W'ays  said,  "  0,  Tommy  does  n't  mind  it !  "  So  I  went 
myself  and  sent  tlie  boys  off,  and  brought  back  Tommy 
to  where  his  brothers  and  sisters  were  at  play. 

"  Do  you  think  he  does  mind  it,  then  ? "  I  said  to 
Mercy. 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  said,  with  a  great  sigh.  "  I  do. 
I  mind  it  so  much,  when  they're  mocked  and  pointed 
at,  that  I  wish  they  were  dead,  and  I  'm  always  wishing 
they  'd  never  been  born." 

You  see,  the  poor  child  felt  all  that  Tommy  would  liave 
felt  if  he  had  been  right  sharp,  which  he  was  n't ;  and  all 
that  Jerry  would  have  felt,  if  his  eyes  had  been  open  to 
the  wretched  bringing  up  of  his  children,  which  they  were 
not ;  and  all  that  Nance  would  have  felt,  if  she  'd  been 
a  different  kind  of  woman :  but  as  for  poor  Nance,  she 
thought  if  she  clouted  them  all  round  once  or  twice  a  day., 
and  kept  them  from  getting  to  any  water,  she  was  giving 
them  as  good  an  education  as  a  poor  cobbler's  childrei 
ought  to  expect. 

Well,  I  went  away  from  Pickersgill  for  three  years  at 
so,  and  when  I  came  back  I  found  Mercy  grown  up,  ant 
the  talk  of  aU  the  place.  Her  face  was  small ;  not  round, 
nor  dimpled,  yet  not  thin-looking,  but  beautifully  soft, 
and  of  the  same  warm  whiteness  aU  over;  just,  perhaps, 
a  little  wanner  in  the  middle  of  the  cheeks,  as  you  se 
a  bunch  of  apple-blossoms  gets  pinker  towards  the  heart. 
Yes,  certainly,  if  this  kind  of  face,  with  fidl  and  sorrow- 
ful blue  eyes,  with  a  blue  shadow  lying  under  them,  and 
pinky  eyehds  heavy  witli  black  lashes  that  seemed  always 
wanting  to  go  to  sleep  on  her  cheek,  a  mouth  like  two 
cherries  pressing  together,  —  if  a  face  like  this,  set  round 


STATE  NORMA!.  SCH^ 

THE    HAUNTED    CEUST.  ^^5  ^Sj^t - 

with  rings  of  cliestnuty  hair,  can  make  a  girl  pretty,  cer- 
tainly Mercy  had  such  a  one,  and  must  have  been  called 
pretty  even  now;  though  ideas  have  changed  since  the 
days  she  used  to  put  the  clerks  at  Flounger's  out  of  their 
reckoning  every  time  she  passed  the  office-windows. 

Now,  at  the  time  of  my  coming  back  to  Pickersgill, 
Mercy  had  fcnir  sweethearts. 

There  was  Smilish,  the  red-haired  herring-man,  always 
sliding  in  a  soft  word  with  his  herrings,  till  Jerry  was 
obliged  to  leave  off  having  them,  which  was  a  great  pri- 
vation to  the  family,  — herrings,  and  Smilish's  heiTings  in 
particular,  being  cheap  just  then. 

Then,  too,  there  was  Felix  Hadup,  a  real  gentleman 
clerk  at  Flounger's  office,  who,  for  the  love  of  Mercy, 
took  to  wearing  out  his  boots  in  quite  a  wonderful  way, 
so  that  Jerry  always  had  a  pair  on  hand.  And,  one  day, 
when  a  dragoon  regiment  was  billeted  on  Pickersgill,  all 
the  children  playing  out  of  doors  at  Gadshill-in-the-Fields 
began  to  cry  and  rush  home ;  and  Jerry  himself,  he  tells 
me,  quaked  a  bit  when  he  looked  up  and  found  a  great 
fellow,  standing  six  feet  in  his  boots,  before  his  window, 
with  his  face  as  red  as  his  coat,  making  a  downright 
honest  oifer  through  his  great  mustache  for  Mercy,  want- 
ing to  march  her  off  to  Ireland  with  his  regiment  next 
morning.  Of  course,  Mercy  was  called  to  speak  for  her- 
self, through  the  whidow ;  and,  poor  fellow,  as  he  went 
back  up  the  court  he  looked  so  mUd  and  meek  that,  in- 
stead of  being  afraid  of  him,  all  the  cliildren  took  hold 
of  hands,  and  stood  in  a  line  staring  at  him  so  that  ha 
couldn't  pass. 

He  was  the  third.     Well,  the  fourth  was  a  man  who, 


56  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

of  all  men  in  the  world,  came  least  to  Jerry's  fancy,  as 
you  may  know  wlieu  I  tell  you  that  that  man  was  Dan 
Harroway,  —  ay,  Dau  o'  the  water,  Dan  himself.  You 
recollect  him,  ay,  ay  ?  There  '11  be  something  happen  I 
should  think  when  black-eyed  Dan 's  forgotten  in  these 
parts.  Ah,  talk  of  your  Charhe  Steers  and  your  Willie 
Stackletons  of  these  days,  —  the  girls  stare  after  them, 
it 's  true,  —  but  Dan,  dark  Dan  o'  the  water,  he  was 
something  to  stare  after,  I  warrant  you.  Ah,  it's  all 
very  well ;  but,  Mr.  Martin,  beggmg  your  pardon,  I  won't 
believe  your  housekeeper  there  forgets  all  the  heartaches 
Dan  made  in  Pickersgill  among  the  lasses  of  her  day. 
Come,  come,  that 's  part  of  my  story ;  you  need  n't  take 
my  ale  away  for  that ;  there 's  no  danger  of  Dan  now ; 
eh.  Mistress  Sicklemore  ? 

Well,  I  suppose  there  's  no  occasion  for  me  to  tell 
any  of  you  that  Dan  was  n't  a  saint.  Though  I  do  say 
he  was  n't  worse  than  Charlie  the  waterman,  or  WiU  the 
horse-breaker.  In  the  first  place,  he  was  driven  to  lead 
the  sort  of  life  he  did  in  a  good  part  by  his  old  miser  of  a 
father,  who  turned  him  out  of  doors  at  sixteen.  Then, 
you  know,  being  such  a  dare-devil  with  horses,  such  a 
fellow  with  his  oar,  and  such  a  little  king  in  his  looks, 
he  got  soon  picked  up,  and  petted,  and  spoiled  by  the 
sporting  gentlemen  about  here,  —  ay,  and  I  may  say,  by 
more  than  one  sporting  lady  too.  Why,  there  was  my 
lady  Caperdown,  they  say,  would  have  married  him  out 
and  out,  only  she  got  a  shock  when  Dau  took  her  first 
love-letter  to  her  son's  valet,  thinking  it  was  some  order 
about  the  stables,  and  commanded  him,  like  an  emperor, 
to  read  it  to  him,  as  he  could  n't  cither  read  or  write. 


THE    HAUNTED    CRUST.  57 

How  olleu  I  've  sseu  him  standing  in  Ms  bright  top- 
boots  and  scarlet  hunting-coat  outside  here ;  or  in  his 
striped  regatta  shirt,  amongst  all  the  low  fellows  who 
seem  to  grow  out  of  the  water  at  boating  times,  standing 
out  from  them  aU,  as  I  tell  you,  like  a  born  kuig.  He 
had  a  clear  dark  skin,  with  the  blood  always  flushing 
imder  it,  but  never  standing  florid  in  his  cheeks ;  curly 
black  hair ;  and  black  eyes,  — -  not  an  eye  Uke  Jerry's, 
though  it  was  as  black,  but  uot  soft,  and  merry,  and 
contented,  but  a  i^estleiis,  fierce  black  eye,  that  seemed  to 
be  always  roaming  about,  looking  for  something  it  coidd 
never  find ;  and  every  glance  seemed  edgjd  and  pointed 
like  a  steel  dart.  He  had  half  a  score  of  names,  —  the 
Little  King,  the  Emperor,  the  Sultan,  Lucifer ;  and  as 
far  as  pride  and  dark  good  looks  went,  I  must  say,  he 
deserved  them  all,  and  the  last  particularly.  I  think  he 
was  prouder  to  women  than  to  men,  and  had  need  have 
been  if  all  the  tales  I  've  heard  were  true.  I  don't  mean 
to  say  Dan  would  pass  by  a  pretty  girl  without  looking 
at  hei",  not  he ;  but  if  she  minced  in  her  walk,  and  seemed 
to  know  he  was  looking  at  her,  he  would  stare  in  his 
haughty,  scornful  way,  as  much  as  to  say,  "You  needn't 
put  yourself  out ;  I  was  only  thinking  you  've  got  decent 
eyes,  or  a  decent  figure,  and  it 's  a  pity  the  rest  of  you 's 
not  as  good  "  ;  so  that  really  a  girl  was  as  much  put  out 
as  flattered  by  one  of  his  looks ;  and  he  was  so  cool  and 
proud  with  the  handsome  ladies  he  rode  with,  that  it  got 
quite  a  saying  iu  Pickersgill,  "No  more  in  love  than 
Dan  o'  the  water." 

And  now  I  'm  going  to  tell  you  about  Dan  and  Mercy's 
first  meeting. 

3* 


58  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

I  suppose  he  had  noticed  her  before.  I  should  think 
he  had  noticed  her  as  the  prettiest  girl  in  PickersgiU, 
and  as  the  only  girl  in  PickersgUl  who  did  n't  gape  after 
him  (present  company,  Mistress  Sicklemore,  excepted,  of 
com-se  j . 

Well,  it  was  one  muggy  November  night,  Mercy  and 
little  Tommy  and  I  were  coming  up  the  High  Street 
together.  I  was  trying  to  comfort  the  poor  lass  a  bit,  for 
times  just  then  were  going  hard  with  Jerry ;  indeed,  just 
then  was  the  coming  on  of  hard  times  for  more  than  him. 
We  had  got  to  the  end  of  the  street,  when  Dan  came 
flashing  round  the  corner  on  Richardson's  black  horse. 

"  HoUoa,  Matthew !  "  he  shouts,  in  his  grand,  com- 
manding way,  stopping  close  to  the  pavement,  "give  me 
a  light,  quick ;  come,  man.  I  've  got  a  seven-mile  ride,  — 
look  sharp !  " 

"Quicker  said  than  done,  Dan  Ilarroway,  in  tliis 
wind,"  says  I,  taking  out  my  tinder-box. 

Dan  held  his  match  down  while  I  struck ;  but  the 
wind  blew  it  out  directly  it  was  ligliled;  so  I,  stupid- 
like,  asked  Mercy  to  come  and  hold  up  her  shawl  to 
make  shade  against  the  wind.  She  did  come  close  to 
the  hoi'sc,  and  held  up  her  shawl  while  Dan  bent  down, 
holding  the  reins  and  his  pipe  in  one  hand,  and  the  match 
in  the  other  ready  to  catch  the  Ught.  It  lit  and  went  out 
half  a  dozen  times,  and  while  I  was  scraping  and  scraping 
away,  I  knew  well  enough  that  Dan  was  looking  at  Mer- 
cy ;  she  knew  it  too,  and  you  would  have  thouglit  such  a 
girl  would  have  kept  her  eyes  to  herself;  but,  whether 
she  got  angry  or  what,  Mercy  raised  hers  to  Dan's  face  as 
it  bent  down  close  to  her. 


THE    HAUNTED    CRUST.  59 

Now,  I  doa't  know  much  about  love  nonsense  myself, 
still  I  could  but  feel,  when  Mercy  raised  her  eyes  and 
found  Dan's  face  within  a  few  inches  of  hers,  lookmg 
at  her  as  I  'd  never  seen  him  look  at  any  other  woman 
in  his  life,  his  fiery  eyes  all  soft,  and  seeming  to  have 
found  somewhere  to  rest  on  at  last,  and  his  proud-set 
lips  in  a  smile,  —  when  I  saw  this,  I  say,  and  saw,  too,  how 
he  seemed  to  have  the  power  of  holding  those  sorrowful 
blue  eyes  of  Mercy's  to  his  as  by  a  chann,  I  said  to  my- 
self, "  There,  you  've  done  something  for  Jerry,  calling 
her  to  hold  up  her  shawl,  you  have ;  you  thought  if  you 
could  n't  strike  one  match,  you  'd  strike  another.  I  'm 
mistaken  if  this  is  n't  the  beginning  of  trouble." 

And  so  it  turned  out  to  be. 

Dan  may  have  courted  her  with  his  eyes  aU  that  win- 
ter, for  what  I  know ;  but  I  saw  notliing  more  myself, 
till  one  fine  morumg  early  in  the  year.  He  was  riding 
slowly  Tip  the  road  from  Paisley  woods,  with  a  bunch 
of  wild  blue  hyacinths  lying  on  his  horse  before  him, 
close  to  the  path  where  Mercy  was  coming  along.  I  was 
on  the  other  side :  I  don't  think  either  of  them  saw  me. 

Presently  Dan  stopped  his  horse,  and  stooped  and 
held  the  flowers  out  to  her,  smilmg.  Mercy  stopped 
and  looked  at  them.  No  doubt  it  seemed  pleasant  to 
the  poor  child,  who  never  had  time  to  pick  a  flower  for 
herself,  and  who  got  many  a  slap  from  Nance  for  run- 
ning to  pick  up  the  clover-blooms  that  fell  out  of  the 
wagons  passing  the  top  of  the  court ;  no  doubt  it  seemed 
very  pleasant  and  tempting  to  have  a  bunch  of  sweet- 
smeUing  bluebells  held  out  to  her  like  that  by  Emperor 
Dan.     She  looked  and  looked  for  nearly  a  minute,  and 


60  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

then  shook  her  head,  as  much  as  to  say,  'I  mustn't," 
like  a  child,  and  began  to  walk  on  quicker. 

Dan's  face  darkened,  and  he  turned  his  horse  right 
across  her  path,  and  held  the  flowers  down  to  her  again, 
while  his  black  eyes  seemed  half  begging,  half  command- 
ing, her  to  take  them.  Then  she  held  out  her  little  hand 
and  took  them,  stUl  like  a  cluld  frightened  into  doing 
wrong. 

Dan  pricked  his  horse,  and  went  gallopmg  up  the 
road. 

I  never  smell  hyacinths  but  I  see  that  old  road  again, 
with  the  bght  green  hedges  and  the  primroses  under 
them ;  and  Dan  turning  in  his  saddle  as  he  galloped 
away,  resting  one  hand  on  the  horse's  back;  and  his 
dark  face,  with  the  sun  on  it,  smiling  bright  and  proud, 
like  a  sultan  that  had  been  balked  many  times,  but  got 
his  own  way  at  last,  —  smiling  at  Mercy  while  the  yel- 
lowy-green hedges  spun  by ;  and  Mercy  herself  standing 
just  where  he  had  left  her,  shading  her  eyes  with  the 
flowers,  looking  after  him,  ready  to  cry  at  what  she  had 
done,  and  yet  sick  at  heart  that  his  horse  should  bear 
him  so  fast  out  of  her  sight. 

"Trouble  coming,  Jerry,"  I  said  to  myself  as  I  saw 
her,  —  "  trouble  coming." 

That  same  morning  I  had  to  call  on  old  Ilarroway, 
Dan's  father,  who  was  my  landlord,  you  know,  and  who 
OAvned  half  the  wretched  houses  at  GadshUl-in-the-Fields. 
Dan  was  in  the  ofiice,  coming  out  as  I  went  in,  I 
was  n't  surprised  to  see  him  there,  for  matters  had  long 
been  patched  up  between  them ;  but  I  was  surprised  to 
hear  him  say,  — 


THE    HAUNTED    CHUST.  61 

"  What  does  it  matter  to  you  where  the  money  comes 
from,  so  long  as  you  get  it  ? " 

"  I  don't  know  about  that,"  said  old  Harroway,  lock- 
ing up  his  tin  box.  "Jerry's  money  is  honest  money 
when  it  does  come." 

"  What  is  mine,  then  ?  "  Dan  said,  coming  back  with 
a  scowl  on  liis  face. 

"There,  there,  let  it  drop,"  said  the  old  man,  pet- 
tishly. "  You  've  had  your  own  way,  and  that 's  enough ; 
I  don't  know  what  you  're  after,  but  if  you  choose  to  pay 
me  the  rent,  of  course  I  sha'  n't  worry  him  for  it." 

"But,  mind,  the  debt  goes  on  just  the  same,"  said 
Dan ;  "  and  I  take  my  money  back  when  I  like,  giving 
you  a  week  to  get  it  from  him." 

And  Dan  went  out,  just  nodding  to  me ;  and  old  Har- 
roway,  not  seeing  me  yet,  looked  out  of  the  grimy  win- 
dow after  him,  and  screwed  up  his  yellow  face,  and 
shook  his  bald  head,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  Do  you  think 
I  don't  know  what  you  're  after,  my  boy  ?  " 

I  can  tell  you  I  wished  no  little  that  I  knew;  for 
though  I  could  make  neither  head  nor  tail  of  what  I  had 
heard,  and  wouldn't  for  the  world  have  made  Jerry 
uncomfortable  about  it,  and  so  stopped  any  good  Dan 
in  his  love  for  Mercy  might  be  going  to  do  him,  still  I 
found  myself  every  time  I  passed  their  place  croaking 
like  an  old  raven, — 

"There  's  trouble  coming,  Jerry,  — trouble  coming  !  " 

That  same  year,  just  a  week  before  Christmas,  on  a 
Saturday  night,  I  set  off  from  the  Water-Lily  to  pay 
Jerry  Rouse  a  visit.  Ay,  that  was  a  time  that  won't 
be  forgotten  in  PickersgiU  for  a  few  years  to  come,  I 


62  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

should  say,  —  not  by  any,  at  least,  who  saw  what  I  saw 
on  my  walk  to  Jerry's  that  Saturday  night.  Half-dozens 
and  dozens  of  hungry,  ragged  men  outside  bakers'  shops, 
staring  as*  if  they  'd  draw  the  loaves  out  with  their  eyes ; 
women  going  from  shop  to  shop,  to  get  the  most  they 
could  for  their  few  halfpence ;  and  here  and  there  a  man 
carrying  a  pole  with  a  loaf  at  the  top,  and  a  great  ticket 
to  show  the  price  and  the  size  together.  What  did  it 
mean,  Mr.  Martin  ?  Why,  it  was  the  time  of  the  great 
distress  in  all  the  factory  places;  and  at  Pickersgill  it 
was  as  bad,  or  worse,  than  anywhere,  and  it  was  the  hear- 
ing of  a  sore  tale  of  starvation  at  Gadshill-in-the-Fields 
that  made  me  get  up  from  the  comfortable  fireside  of 
the  Water-Lily,  and  set  out  on  my  visit  to  Jerry. 

Now,  Saturday  night,  I  should  tell  you,  was  not  by 
any  means  a  pleasant  time  for  visitmg  Jerry.  In  the 
first  place,  Saturday  was  Nance's  washing-day,  and  you 
would  n't  be  able  to  move  for  wet  rags  of  clothes  hung 
on  lines  across  and  across  the  room.  It  was  her  clean- 
ing day  too,  such  cleaning  as  she  did;  and  you  'd  be 
sure  to  find  her  broke  down  in  the  midst  of  it,  squatting 
before  the  fire,  railing  at  Jerry  because  he  would  n't  take 
the  baby,  who  was  always  cross  on  a  Saturday  night, 
because  the  steam  of  the  wet  clothes  brought  his  cough 
on.  Jerry  himself  would  be  sittuig  in  the  corner  where 
Nance  had  driven  him,  bending  his  pale,  good-tempered 
little  face  over  his  work,  and  surrounded  by  old  boots, 
which  the  children  would  be  playing  with  and  mauling 
about  so  that  when  he  wanted  a  left,  he  found  all  rights, 
or  when  he  wanted  a  right,  all  lefts. 

That  was  Jerry's  home  on  that  Saturday  night ;  not 


THE    HAUNTED    CEUST.  63 

a  Yerj  briglit  one  certainly,  but  a  palace  to  many  a  home 
at  Gailshill-in-the-riekls. 

But  now  Jerry  didn't  look  upon  any  of  tbess  tilings 
as  his  troubles,  but  as  all  Nance's  ;  and  listened>patiently 
to  her  complaining,  pitying  her  from  the  bottom  of  his 
kind,  simple  heart,  and  wonderiug  if  ever  a  woman,  let 
her  be  saint,  martyr,  or  what,  had  as  much  to  put  up 
with  as  his  Nance. 

He  had  one  trouble  of  his  own,  though,  had  Jen-y. 
Where  was  Mercy  these  Saturday  nights  ?  Tramping 
through  the  mud  and  mire,  taking  home  the  work  as  fast 
as  he  could  do  it  ?  As  fast  as  he  could  do  it :  yes,  but 
Mercy  was  not  so  quick  gone  on  these  errands  as  she 
used  to  be,  and  poor  Jerry  noticed  it ;  and  had  queer, 
uneasy  thoughts  about  it,  that  made  him  stick  his  awl 
into  his  thumb  sometimes. 

And  so  I  found  him  that  Saturday  night,  sitting 
sweating  over  his  work,  in  the  steam  and  smoke,  and 
pondering  these  things  concerning  Mercy. 

I  made  the  best  of  my  way  among  the  wet  clothes 
to  liim,  after  speaking  to  Nauce  and  the  children. 

"Ah,  Matthew,"  he  said,  with  a  shake  back  of  his 
matted  hair  and  a  hghtening  up  of  his  pale  face,  '-'all 
the  complhnents  of  the  season  to  you  for  coming  to  see 
us  in  this  family  kind  o'  way.  You  must  take  us  as 
we  are,  you  know ;  we  don't  make  no  stranger  of  you, 
do  we,  Nauce  ?  "WiU  you  clear  a  chair  for  IMatthsw, 
my  dear  ?  and  I  dare  say  he  '11  be  so  good  as  to  hold 
the  little  'un  for  you." 

"  No,  thank  you,  Jerry ;  I  'm  much  beholden  to  you, 
but  I  'd  rather  be  excused,"  says  I.     "  Me  hold  a  baby, 


64  LITTLE    CLASSICS, 

indeed !  No,  no ;  that 's  a  thing  I  never  coxild  do.  In 
the  fii'st  place,  I  never  can  guess  how  far  a  child  comes 
down  to  in  its  long-clothes ;  and  if  you  go  to  stretch 
your  arms  out,  takmg  it  to  be  taller  than  it  is,  it  '11  slip 
through  'em ;  or  if  you  go  to  take  it  by  the  middle,  the 
head  will  hang  down  and  bring  on  convulsions  or  some- 
thing." 

So  I  let  Jerry's  baby  alone,  and  took  a  chair,  and 
while  I  was  talking  to  him  stuck  my  pockets  out  behind, 
to  show  the  mince-meat  pies  and  oranges.  It  was  n't 
long  before  they  were  found  out;  for  soon,  instead  of 
fretting  and  whining,  you  could  hear  nothing  but  suck- 
ing and  munching  all  over  the  room;  and  then  by  de- 
grees came  the  whole  lot  hanging  about  my  knees,  and 
looking  up  at  me  with  their  big  eyes  as  if  I  was  the 
most  wonderful  old  boy  that  ever  hvcd.  I  don't  like 
children,  I  never  did ;  but  I  liked  to  feel  Jerry's  chil- 
dren pick  my  pockets. 

"  So  you  've  got  a  new  landlord,  Jerry  ?  "  I  said  to  him. 

Jerry  looked  up  from  the  thread  be  was  waxing,  quite 
astonished. 

"  Have  n't  you  heard  that  old  Harroway  said  good  by 
to  us  all  last  night  ?"  says  I. 

"No,"  said  Jerry. 

"  Well,  he  did ;  he  died  at  his  sister's  farm  at  Basset." 

"And  who  '11  be  our  landlord  now  ?  "  asked  Jerry. 

"Who?  Wliy,  who  but  his  son,"  said  I,  "young 
Dan  o'  the  water?" 

Jerry  laid  down  the  boot  he  was  welting,  and  sat 
considering,  drawing  up  his  little  knees,  and  winding 
his  piece  of  waxed  thread  round  and  round  them. 


THE    HAUNTED    CUUST.  65 

"Matthew,"  lie  said  presently,  in  a  low  voice,  so  that 
Nance  should  n't  hear  him,  "  I  'm  sorry.  I  'm  sorrier 
for  this  yer  than  I  can  tell  you." 

"And  why,  Jerry?"  I  asked  him. 

"Because,"  says  he,  taking-  up  his  boot  again,  and 
sticking  it  bstween  his  knees,  sole  upwards,  and  bringmg 
his  fist  down  upon  the  sole  with  all  his  might,  "  I  'd 
rather  Dan  Harroway  be  obUgated  to  me  for  a  sound 
lickin',  than  I  'ud  be  obhgated  to  him  for  the  standiu' 
over  of  half  a  year's  rent,  as  '11  have  to  be  the  case  now. 
Poor  old  Harroway,  he  must  have  foresaw  as  his  end 
was  nigh,  for  he  's  let  me  alone  since  the  spring,  and 
not  worrited  me  once." 

Ay,  thhiks  I,  Dan  could  tell  you  two  stories  to  that 
one,  but  I  only  said,  — 

"  It  appears  to  me,  Jerry  Rouse,  you  're  a  shade  too 
hard  on  that  lad,  — that  Dan  Harroway;  it  does,  now." 

"  Well,  I  'm  sorry  if  I  am,  and  I  'm  wilhn'  to  give 
him  every  excuse,  so  long  as  he  keeps  out  o'  my  way. 
He  may  mend  some  time  or  other,  but  I  ain't  much 
hopes  myself  o'  such  a  character ;  he  's  had  too  much 
to  do  with  the  water  for  me." 

"Why,  man  aUve,  what  harm  could  the  water  do 
him  ?  "  says  I. 

"  What  harm  ? "  says  Jerry ;  "  why,  it 's  my  opinion 
as  the  first  harm  that  ever  was,  was  washed  ashore  by 
water.  Ah,  it 's  a  queer  thing,  and  it 's  the  greatest 
pity  as  is  that  we  can't  do  without  it ;  but  we  can't, 
I  suppose.  It 's  one  o'  the  necessities  as  came  to  us 
with  the  fall  o'  man.  What  harm  is  there  in  it,  indeed  ? 
Why,  don't  you  suppose  as  the  sarpint  that  tempted 


66  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

Adam's  missus  was  a  sea-sarpint?  o'  course  lie  was; 
and  I  tell  you  there  's  no  couutin'  the  harm  there  is  in 
water.  Look  at  yer  mud  larks,  and  your  river  thieves, 
and  your  pierits,  and  then  tell  me  as  there  's  no  harm 
in  water.  And  tliis  Dan  Harroway,  —  why,  as  I  may 
say,  he  's  been  bred  to  it.  I  mind  him  when  he  come 
up  no  higher  than  my  knee,  a  chippin'  httle  boats  out 
o'  nothing  one  minute,  and  a  pumpin'  on  hisself  in  the 
market-place  at  Basset  another;  and  when  I  saw  it,  I 
always  said  as  he  'd  come  to  ruin.  So  he  's  my  landlord, 
is  he  ?  Well,  landlord  or  no  landlord,  let  me  catch  him 
making  eyes  at  my  gal  agen,  that's  all." 

"  How  do  you  know  but  what  he  means  well  by  her, 
Jerry  ?  "  said  I. 

"  Mean  well  by  her  ?  "  says  Jerry ;  "  not  he.  No, 
no,  whatever  Dan  is,  he  's  a  bit  above  us ;  though  as  for 
Mercy  herself,  a  king  niight  mean  well  by  her,  for  that 
matter.  She  has  a  face  of  her  own,  has  Mercy,  and  a 
figure  too,  bless  her.  As  Smihsh  over  the  way  says  (for 
I  can't  never  go  to  have  a  chat  with  Smilish  now  but 
what  he  begins  spelhug  and  speerhig  about  her ;  though, 
poor  chap,  he  's  lived  off  a  herring  and  a  tater  tliis  fort- 
night, they  say),  '  She  's  as  pretty,'  says  Smilish,  speak- 
in'  o'  Mercy,  '  as  a  wilet,  and  she  dou't  know  it  no  more 
'an  a  wilet.'  No  more  she  don't;  but  I  '11  warrant  if 
Dan  Harroway  sets  his  evil  eye  upon  her,  she  '11  know 
it  soon  enough.     Halloa !  who  's  that  ?  " 

It  was  Smihsh  himself,  poking  his  red  head  in  at  the 
door. 

"  Talk  of  angels,"  said  Jerry,  "  and  —  But,  lor',  man, 
what 's  the  matter  with  you  ?    Have  you  seen  a  ghost  ?  " 


THE    HAUNTED    CRUST.  67 

"Come  liere,  Jerry  Rouse,"  said  Smilisli,  beckoiiiug 
with  his  great  haud. 

Jerry  and  I  got  up  and  went  to  the  door. 

"Look  there,  Jerry  Rouse,"  said  Smilish,  dragging 
him  out  and  pointing  up  the  court. 

Now,  when  I  tell  you  the  moon  was  so  bright  you 
could  see  the  fish-scales  sticking  to  Smilish's  red  hand  as 
he  pointed,  you  '11  see  that  there  was  no  mistaking  two 
figures  which  stood  by  the  wall  of  a  half-finished  house 
at  the  top  of  the  court.  In  that  light,  if  they  belonged 
to  the  parish  at  all,  Jerry  must  know  them.  They  did 
belong  to  the  parish,  and  Jerry  did  know  them. 

It  was  Dan  and  Mercy. 

They  were  holding  hands,  saying  good  by,  as  it  seemed. 
We  all  three  stood  looking  at  them  a  minute  or  more, 
then  Jerry  took  up  the  corner  of  his  leather  apron,  and 
tucked  it  in  the  string  that  went  round  his  waist,  and 
went  up  the  court  to  them.  His  house  was  number 
three,  you  know,  so  there  was  but  the  length  of  two 
houses  to  go. 

The  two  dropped  each  other's  hands  .as  they  saw  him  ; 
Mercy  shrank  back,  but  Dan  stood  up  in  his  boots  and 
faced  him  hke  a  man. 

"  Mercy,  my  gal,"  said  Jerry,  laying  his  hand  on  her 
shoulder,  and  pointing  to  his  wretched  little  place,  "  go 
home."  And  she  went  home,  and  Smihsh  turned  his  face 
away. 

Then  Jerry  turned  to  Dan,  and  says  he,  — 

"  Dan  Harroway,"  says  he,  "  you  're  my  landlord,  as  I 
hear,  and  I  'm  half  a  year's  rent  in  your  del^t ;  I  don't 
want  to  see  my  little  ones  turned  out  ia  the  cold  without 


68  LITTLE   CLASSICS. 

a  roof  to  cover  'em,  so  I  can't  say  exactly  wliat  I  shotdd 
'a'  said  to  you  if  to-day  liad  been  yesterday.  All  as  I  say 
now  is,  don't  let  me  catch  you  talking  to  my  gal  agen." 

Now  I  tliiuk  by  Dan's  face  lie  was  going  to  make  him 
a  quiet  answer,  but  as  ill-luck  would  have  it,  who  should 
pass  tlie  end  of  the  court  that  minute  but  Jem  Barnes 
and  Stackleton,  and  a  lot  more  of  Dan's  friends,  on  their 
way  home  from  a  card-party  at  the  Water-Lily ;  and  of 
course  when  they  caught  sight  of  Dan  and  Jerry  stand- 
ing like  that,  and  knowing  Dan's  goings  on  with  Mercy, 
of  course  they  stopped  to  see  the  fun.  Dan  turned  on 
his  heel  to  go  up  to  them. 

Jerry  griped  him  by  the  coUar  and  jerked  him  back. 

"  Dan  Harroway,"  says  he,  "  you  don't  go  out  o'  this 
yer  court  till  you  've  giv  me  your  promise  as  you  '11 
never  speak  another  word  to  ray  gal  in  your  life." 

"  Don't  I  ?  "  said  Dan,  wrenching  himself  away ; 
"  we  '11  see  about  that.  Wliat,  do  you  suppose  I  care 
for  your  girl  ?  and  if  I  did,  why,  have  n't  J  as  much 
right  to  have  my  say  to  her  as  any  one  else  ?  " 

"  I  '11  tell  you,"  said  Jerry,  his  passion  up  as  he  heard 
all  the  young  fellows  laughing  at  him.  "  Because,  Dan 
Harroway,  yon  have  n't  a  rag  to  your  back  as  belongs 
to  you  by  good  riglits,  nor  a  drop  o'  blood  in  your  body 
that 's  been  made  by  honest-earned  wittles.  You  live  by 
hook  and  by  crook,  spenditi'  here  and  takin'  there,  and 
betting  and  gambling  and  drinking.  They  tell  me  as 
you  're  proud,  but  I  tell  you,  Dan  Harroway,  that  me  as 
cuts  this  yer  poor  figure  by  the  side  of  you  have  got 
more  pride  in  me  'an  you  have,  for  I  've  got  pride  enough 
to  keep  me  slaving  and  sweating  in  that  'ere  hole  as  you 


THE    HAUNTED    CRUST.  69 

calls  yourself  laudlord  of,  from  year's  end  to  year's  end, 
ratheuer  I  'd  take  a  penny  from  the  parish  or  any  man 
aKve  to  go  to  the  feed  o'  them  little  uns." 

"  Then  look  you,  Jerry  Rouse,"  said  Dan,  flashing  on 
him  with  his  eyes  as  the  young  fellows  came  nearer, 
"  you  owe  me  two  quarters'  rent ;  if  you  've  got  the 
pride  you  're  telling  of,  pay  it  me  down  now." 

"  I  can't,  you  know  it,"  Jerry  said,  with  a  groan ; 
"I'd  give  my  head  if  I  could." 

"  Very  well,  you  'U  beg  my  pardon  for  every  word 
you  've  said  to  me  this  night,  or  you  '11  suffer  for  it.  I  '11 
give  you  till  over  Christmas  day  ;  if  you  have  n't  begged 
my  pardon  or  paid  down  your  rent  by  then,  you  turn  out, 
bag  and  baggage." 

And  Dan  turned  and  walked  away. 

"  Stop  a  bit,"  said  Jerry,  following  him  and  laymg  his 
hand  on  his  shoulder ;  "do  you  promise  me  what  I  asked 
you  about  my  gal  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Dan  Harroway,  fiercely,  "  I  don't ;  is  that 
plain  ?  " 

Jerry  did  n't  answer  him,  but  turned  and  walked 
home. 

"  Mercy,"  he  said,  taking  off  his  apron  as  he  came  in 
at  the  door,  "put  on  your  bonnet  and  come  along  o'  me. 
I  'm  a  goin'  to  take  you  over  to  your  grandmother's  at 
Bassett,  my  wench.     You  can't  bide  here  no  longer." 

With  a  face  white  as  a  sheet,  Mercy  got  a  handker- 
chief and  rolled  up  a  few  things  in  it ;  among  'em  I  saw 
some  dead  flowers,  and  I  knew  by  the  long  stalks  what 
they  were.  Then  she  kissed  'em  all  round,  and  followed 
her  father  out  of  the  door  without  speaking  a  word. 


70  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

WTiat  I  'm  going  to  tell  you  now  about  Jerry,  I  did  u't 
see  myself,  but  he  's  told  it  to  me  so  many  a  time  that 
I  've  got  it  all  before  me  as  clear  aud  real  as  if  I  had 
seeu  it,  aud  it  had  happened  a  week  ago  uistead  of  forty 
years. 

It  was  Christmas  eve,  theu,  going  on  for  eleven  o'  the 
clock  ;  Jerry  sat  by  himself,  iiuisliiug  Jem  Barnes's  Sun- 
day boots,  which  he  'd  beeu  patching  up. 

The  candle  stood  on  a  three-legged  stool  in  front  of 
him,  and  every  now  and  then  Jerry  would  look  at  it,  aud 
each  time  he  looked  at  it,  his  fingers  flew  faster. 

There  were  two  inches  of  caudle,  aud  there  was  what 
a  quick  man  would  call  a  good  hoar's  work.  Two  inches 
of  candle  and  not  a  scrap  more  in  the  house,  —  not  a 
scrap  more,  most  likely,  in  all  the  court.  Few  houses, 
indeed,  at  GadshUl-in-the-rields  had  a  scrap  of  bread  in 
them  that  night,  let  alone  candle  or  firiug. 

Two  iuches  of  caudle  aud  a  good  hour's  work  to  do  ! 
It  seemed  as  sure  as  fate  the  candle  must  go  out  before 
that  work  was  done,  yet  Jerry  looked  at  it  and  worked 
fiercer,  —  looked  at  it  and  worked  fiercer.  His  dirty, 
pallid,  flat-uaUed  fingers  flew,  aud  the  caudle  burned. 

It  was  a  race  that  would  have  held  your  breath  to  watch, 
a  race  for  life  or  death.  If  Jerry's  fingers  won  it,  it  was 
life,  —  if  the  caudle  won  it,  it  was  death ;  for  while  he 
worked  so  that  he  could  teU  if  one  second  was  shorter 
weight  than  another,  there  came  from  the  up-stairs  room 
faint  cries  and  wailings.  Aud  Jerry  knew  what  it  was. 
He  had  heard  it  iu  many  a  house  this  winter ;  but  it  had 
never  beeu  to  his  before. 

It  was  a  wolf  up  there  in  that  room,  —  a  wolf  gnawing 


THE    HAUNTED    CEUST.  71 

away  at  liis  seven  little  cMldren,  and  liis  poor  sick  wife, 
—  hunger  it  was,  and  it  had  come  upon  them  sudden 
and  savage,  and  Jerry  knew  that  if  it  was  n't  driven  off 
that  night  it  must  devour  them  all  away  from  him,  devour 
him  too,  and  tlie  only  thing  he  could  drive  it  away  with 
was  the  shilling  he  would  get  when  he  took  Jem  Barnes's 
boots  home. 

So  he  raced  with  the  candle  till  the  drops  came  out 
thick  on  his  forehead. 

There  was  one  inch  now,  and  there  was  more  than 
half  au  hour's  work  to  do. 

The  candle  burned  and  the  fingers  flew,  — •  flew,  ay,  so 
fast,  that  every  now  and  then  Jerry  felt  in  doubt  as  to 
whether  they  carried  the  thread  along  with  them  or  not ; 
but  if  he  stopped  to  fuid  out,  his  race  was  lost,  for  the 
candle  had  nothiug  to  stop  for,  so  he  let  'em  tremble  and 
shake  over  the  boot  that  was  stuck  between  his  knees. 

The  fingers  flew,  and  the  caudle  lourned ;  the  race  was 
drawing  to  an  end. 

The  candle  blazed  up. 

JeiTy  stuck  his  last  stitch. 

The  wick  fell  and  went  out. 

Jerry  hugged  his  boot,  and  gave  a  great  cry.  His  job 
was  done. 

The  moonlight  falling  through  the  dusty  window 
showed  him  where  his  battered  old  hat  lay  on  the  chair. 
He  snatched  it  up,  and  the  fellow-boot,  and  ran  out  in 
his  shirt-sleeves,  calling  up  the  dark  narrow  stairs  as  he 
went  by  them,  — 

"Take  the  little  uns  to  you,  Nance,  and  keep  'em 
warm.  I  've  done  it,  and  I  '11  be  back  in  a  minute  with 
some  wittles." 


72  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

"B^;  iu  a  minute/'  Jerry  said;  but  it  took  Inm 
a  sliarpfeli  ruu  to  get  to  Jem  Barnes's  house  in  five. 
When  he  got  there,  there  was  n't  a  light  to  be  seen  in 
any  of  the  windows.  He  knocked  once.  No  one  came. 
Twice,  —  still  no  one  came. 

Jerry  took  hold  of  the  knocker,  aud  thumped  it  down 
every  two  seconds  fierce  aud  hard.     Still  no  one  came. 

By  and  by  old  Constable  Mullinger  turned  up  the 
street  to  see  what  the  noise  was  about. 

"  Are  you  gone  mad  ?  "  said  he  to  Jerry.  "  Don't 
you  see  they  're  all  out  ?  Be  off  about  your  business, 
or  I'U  be  helphig  you  with  your  knocking." 

Jerry  reeled  back  into  the  middle  of  the  road,  and 
stared  up  at  the  house.  He  had  never  thought  of  this. 
Had  he  run  his  race  ^vith  the  candle  for  nothmg  ? 

No  wonder  old  Mullinger  thought  he  was  mad,  to  see 
him  standing  there  without  his  coat,  his  old  hat  stuck  at 
the  back  of  liis  head,  and  his  boots  in  his  hand,  staring 
at  the  dark  windows.  Soon  the  cold  began  to  go  through 
and  through  liim,  aud  he  turned  shivering  and  half  stupe- 
fied, aud  went  back  home. 

Going  iu,  he  stumbled  against  the  stairs  and  made  a 
noise,  aud  then  he  stood  listening,  feeUng  sure  that  all 
the  seven  little  children  would  cry  out  to  him  for  the 
food  he  had  promised  to  be  back  with  in  a  minute. 

No.  All  was  still,  —  all  except  his  own  heart  thump- 
ing away  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs. 

"  They  've  fell  asleep,"  he  said  to  himself;  "  they  won't 
feel  the  wolf  for  a  httle  while,  not  perhaps  till  I  get  'em 
^some  work'us  bread  in  the  morning." 

He  Avould  n't  go  up  for  fear  of  disturbing  them,  so  he 


THE    HAUNTED    CRUST.  73 

went  and  sat  on  liis  bench  in  the  dusky  moonhdit,  and 
took  np  a  boot  of  Httle  Tommy's  and  his  awl,  and  tried 
to  work,  just  for  the  sake  of  keeping  himself  from  think- 
ing, and  from  feeling  the  gnawing  at  his  inside. 

He  woi'ked,  but  the  thinking  and  the  gnawing  went 
on  just  the  same. 

He  worked,  but  the  dark  handsome  face  of  Dan  Har- 
roway  kept  coming  between  him  and  little  Tommy's 
boot,  making  him  grip  his  awl  and  breathe  hard. 

He  worked,  but  the  loneliness  and  the  gnawing  made 
him  get  so  light  and  sharp  in  his  wits  that  he  could  n't 
sit  still,  so  he  stood  up  with  his  work  in  his  hand. 

By  and  by  he  dropped  the  boot,  and  stood  still,  not 
breathing  at  all,  with  the  awl  in  his  hand. 

A  thought  had  come  to  him,  —  a  thought  of  how  to 
muzzle  the  wolf. 

He  went  to  the  foot  of  the  stairs  and  listened :  still 
all  was  quiet.  He  kicked  off  his  boots,  and  crept  up, 
feeling  by  the  damp  wall.  The  door  was  open,  and 
Jerry  went  in  and  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  look- 
ing at  the  row  of  ragged  little  beds  that  lay  along  the  splin- 
tery floor.  The  moonlight  fell  upon  each  wizened  sharp 
face,  and  each  wizened  dirty  hand  lying  over  the  patch- 
work quilts. 

Now,  while  Jerry  stood  looking  at  them  all  with  that 
dreadfid  uncommon  sharpness  I  told  you  of,  which  made 
him  feel  as  if  he  could  do  anything  in  the  world  if  he  set 
his  mind  on  it,  he  heard  Nance  muttering,  and  when  he 
went  to  listen  what  she  said,  he  found  she  was  cursing 
him  in  her  sleep  for  having  married  her.  Jerry  listened, 
and  got  all  cold  and  stiff  about  the  roots  of  his  hair,  and 

yQi<.  V,  4 


74  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

the  room  seemed  to  spin  round  and  round  Mm,  —  beds, 
door,  patched  window,  with  the  big  yellow  moon  staring 
in  it,  and  all,  —  all  seemed  to  spin  round;  and  Jerry 
looked  after  the  spinning  beds,  and  then  at  the  spiunmg 
moon,  and  wished  it  away.  He  gripped  his  awl  hard 
and  fast,  and  flung  himself  down  by  the  first  of  the  beds. 
Still  it  seemed  spinning  away  from  him,  and  he  made  a 
clutch  at  it  with  his  left  hand,  and  when  he  had  got  it,  set 
his  knee  on  it,  then  his  left  hand  clutched  a  thin  httle 
shoulder,  clutched  it  so  tight  that  there  was  a  scream, 
and  that  scream  woke  Nance  and  all  the  rest ;  and  taking 
him  to  have  come  back  with  the  victuals,  they  all  set  up 
a  wailiug  cry  for  joy,  and  stretched  out  their  hands. 

And  Jerry  hfted  up  his  head  and  looked  at  the  empty 
thin  hands  and  hungry  faces,  and  pointed  to  his  awl,  and 
said  to  'em,  witli  a  great  lift  of  his  chest  at  every 
word,  — 

"  Look  here,  little  uns,  it 's  earned  your  bread  aU 
along,  this  yer,  and  if  so  be  it  can't  am  your  bread  any 
more,  can't  it  —  can't  it  put  you  to  —  to  —  to  sleep, 
little  uns  —  just  to  sleep  —  only  to  sleep?" 

He  laid  himself  down  on  the  bed.  The  bright  tip  of 
the  awl  glittered,  and  then  was  hidden  in  the  clothes. 
He  pressed  himself  closer  and  closer  over  the  clnld,  and 
his  awl  was  in  his  hand  under  hun.  There  was  just  a 
touch  —  a  cold,  sharp  touch  —  on  a  bony  chest,  only  a 
touch ;  and  it  was  not  Jerry's  chest,  yet  it  was  Jeriy 
who  leaped  to  his  feet  with  ahuost  a  yell,  as  if  a  sword 
had  gone  through  him,  —  leaped  to  his  feet  and  cleared 
the  dark  stairs  in  two  springs,  and  rashed  out  of  the 
house  door,  and  away  up  the  court,  without  ever  a  bit  of 


THE   HAUNTED    CRUST.  75 

shoe  to  liis  foot,  or  coat  to  Ms  back,  or  cap  to  liis  head ; 
rushed  along  towards  the  town-end  of  the  court  in  his 
shirt  and  ragged  trousers,  and  bare  feet,  and  with  his 
awl  in  his  hand ;  rushed  as  if  a  demon  were  after  him ; 
rushed,  and  once  he  knocked  huuself  against  a  post,  like 
a  bhnd,  wild  anhnal.  Then  he  ran  on  till  he  got  to  the 
end  of  the  court  and  out  into  the  street,  —  the  dark,  stiU 
street,  and  he  saw  one  man  in  it,  and  he  made  up  to  him. 
The  man  turned,  and,  seeing  Jerry  coming  towards  him 
with  his  awl,  so  wild  and  strange,  began  to  qvdcken  his 
pace. 

But  Jerry  got  up  to  him,  and  made  a  spring,  and 
threw  both  his  arms  round  him  so  violently  that  the  man 
was  felled  to  the  ground. 

"  Don't  run  away  from  me  !  FeUer-creetur,  brother, 
I  got  more  on  me  nor  I  can  bear,  come  and  help  me ! 
You  sha'  n't  go  away  till  you  've  helped  me  !  " 

"  Let  me  go,"  said  the  man,  stniggliug,  —  "  let  me  go 
free,  will  you  ?  " 

"  Hah !  "  cried  Jerry ;  and,  looking  down  on  his  face, 
with  his  knee  on  his  chest,  and  his  awl  raised  above  him, 
he  saw  it  was  Dan  Harroway. 

The  cause  of  all  liis  trouble  that  night  was  there  under 
liis  knee,  and  the  awl  wliich  through  him  had  been  nearly 
turued  against  his  little  children  was  in  his  hand.  Did 
n't  it  seem  hke  justice  put  into  his  own  hands  to  deal  ? 
The  knee  planted  on  Dan's  chest  shook,  and  the  eyes 
looking  down  upon  hun  blazed  like  balls  of  lire. 

Dan  ITaiTOway  thought  his  last  was  come.  Suddenly 
he  felt  the  weight  gone  off  his  chest,  and  looking  up  he 
saw  the  back  of  a  ragged  figure,  which  seemed  to  be 


76  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

wringing  its  hands,  with  the  awl  in  them,  and  then  he 
saw  it  run  back  down  the  dark  court. 

Yes,  Jerry  was  running  back.  He  had  been  to  the 
world  for  help,  and  it  had  sent  him  greater  temjitation. 
Where  was  he  to  go  now  ? 

Now,  whde  Jerry  rushed  back  down  the  dark  quiet 
court,  crying  to  himself,  "  Who  '11  help  me  ?  Is  there 
nobody  as  '11  help  me  ?  "  there  flashed  upon  him  a  recol- 
lection of  a  story  he  had  heard,  —  a  story  which  had  al- 
ways struck  him  as  being  much  too  hard  to  believe  in, 
and  much  too  wonderful  to  be  at  all  true ;  but  now,  I 
say,  the  recollection  of  it  struck  upon  him  like  a  sudden 
light  in  his  darkness. 

He  began  to  run  faster.  He  passed  his  own  house. 
He  came  to  the  other  end  of  the  court,  and  out  into  the 
gi'cat  brick-fields. 

Just  before  him  was  a  high  heap  of  bricks  and  stones 
and  rubbish,  where  a  house  had  been  pulled  down. 
Jerry  had  but  one  thought  just  then,  he  wanted  to  get 
high.  He  seemed  as  if  he  could  n't  get  high  enough  for 
what  he  wanted.  So  he  began  to  climb  this  mound, 
sticking  his  bare  feet  into  the  sharp  stones  and  broken 
bricks  till  they  bled,  and  helping  himself  up  with  his 
hands  till  they  bled,  and  when  he  got  to  the  very  top  he 
was  weUuigh  faintmg,  and  he  fell  upon  his  knees. 

The  big,  set  moon  seemed  to  be  on  a  level  with  his 
head  as  it  stared  at  him  through  two  window-holes  of  a 
half-finished  house,  and  it  lighted  everything ;  the  pool 
of  black  water  below  him,  the  frosted  rushes  growing 
round  it,  and  the  gray  Ime  of  field  rats  passing  from  the 
cellar  of  one  of  the  new  houses  to  a  hole  in  the  clay- 
bank. 


THE    HAUNTED    CEUST.  77 

Jerry  threw  iip  Ms  two  arms,  still  holding  the  awl, 
and  cried  out  as  loud  as  ever  he  could  cry  in  his  faint- 
ness,  — 

"  If  You  as  made  me,"  says  he,  "  can  see  me  now ;  if 
You  knows  me  better  than  I  knows  You,  come  anigh 
me  !  I  don't  arst  You  for  myself.  There  's  somethin'  a 
tearin'  my  inside  hke  a  wild  beast ;  but  that  I  can  bear. 
What  I  arst  You  is,  save  my  little  uus  from  me  !  Save 
Dan  Harroway  from  me !  Come  anigh  me,  wherever 
You  are,  and  lay  hold  on  this  yer.  I  'm  only  a  poor 
human  creetur,  and  there  's  more  put  on  me  nor  I  can 
bear,  an'  it 's  makin'  a  devil  of  me.  I  don't  know  how 
to  get  at  You,  I  don't  know  no  prayers  ;  but  I  tell  You 
as  I  want  You ;  if  ever  any  poor  creetur  You  've  made 
ever  wanted  You,  I  do.  O,  come  anigh  me !  Come 
anigh  me ! " 

Did  anything  come  anigh  him  ?  Jerry  says  as  the 
wiud  rose  he  heard  a  rustling  all  about  the  mound,  like 
a  swooping  do^vu  of  great  wings  or  garments,  and  his 
hand  got  loose,  and  the  awl  went  whirUng  down,  and 
fell  with  a  splash  into  the  black  water ;  and  Jerry,  when 
he  heard  the  splash,  fell  a-trembluig  and  hiding  his  face 
with  liis  two  hands. 

He  was  n't  alone,  he  says  ;  the  sweep-down  of  wings 
and  the  talking  in  the  wind  went  on.  Por  some  time  — 
how  long  he  could  n't  tell  —  he  seemed  to  be  lifted  right 
up  out  of  his  trouble,  and  he  did  n't  feel  the  sharp  stones 
under  his  knees ;  and  he  stayed  with  those  that  seemed 
to  have  come  about  him  till  the  moon  went  down  in  the 
window-hole. 

At  last  tlic  bark  of  a  dog  made  him  remember  himself, 


78  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

and  he  looked  up,  and,  finding  liis  awl  gone,  gave  a  great 
shout  for  joy. 

"  You  've  lieered  me,"  he  said,  —  "  You  've  heered  me ; 
and  I  ain't  alone,  nor  my  little  uus  ain't  alone  ;  they  've 
got  a  better  father  'an  me." 

Then  he  came  down,  shpping  and  sliding  among  the 
stones,  and  began  to  run  home  all  shaking  and  close  to 
the  ground  hke  a  lamb  just  out  of  the  lion's  jaw. 

As  he  ran,  the  dog  he  had  heard  bark  came  across  his 
path  with  a  crust  of  bread  in  his  mouth,  and  Jen-y  seized 
him  by  the  nape,  and  took  tlie  crust  fi-om  him,  and  ran 
home  to  divide  it  amongst  his  children. 

When  he  had  got  in,  though,  that  wild  beast  he  had 
told  of  on  the  mound  clawed  him  for  it ;  and  he  was 
just  going  to  fall  upon  and  devour  it,  and  had  got  it  be- 
tween his  teethi  when  another  wonderful  old  story,  com- 
ing across  him,  made  him  stop  and  think. 

He  cleared  the  table ;  he  moved  all  the  rubbish  on  the 
floor  on  one  side  with  his  foot,  and  covered  it  over. 
Then  he  began  looking  about  for  some  kind  of  a  table- 
cloth. He  found  one,  clean  and  white,  in  a  drawer,  and 
he  felt  ready  to  cry  with  gratefulness  to  Nance  that  she 
should  have  such  a  thing.  He  spread  it  on  the  table, 
and  then  he  took  his  crust  and  laid  it  in  the  middle  ;  and 
after  looking  at  it  a  long  time,  he  went  out  softly  and 
shut  the  door. 

He  crawled  up  stairs  once  more,  so  faint  that  he  could 
scarce  drag  one  foot  after  the  other. 

The  cliildren  were  all  awake,  and  waiUug  still.  Jerry 
went  and  took  'em  up,  and  cuddled  'em  oue  by  one  in 
his  poor  tired  arms,  and  said,  with  the  tears  running 
down  his  cheeks, — 


THE    HAUNTED    CRUST.  79 

"Don't  cry,  little  uns  ;  I  've  been  out  and  I  could  n't 
get  you  notliing,  but  coining  back  I  see  a  dog  with  a 
crust  in  his  mouth,  and  I  lugged  it  away,  and  it  hes  on 
the  table  down  below,  and  I  'm  a  goin'  to  arst  Him  as 
they  say  made  seven  loaves  and  five  little  fishes  feed  four 
thousand  creeturs,  if  He  won't  make  that  'ere  little  crust 
below  enough  to  fill  us  all  by  mornin'.  So  go  to  sleep, 
little  uns,  and  you,  Nance,  my  woman,  go  to  sleep,  — 
go  to  sleep  all  ou  you,  and  let  Him  do  His  will  by  that 
'ere  little  crust ;  and  we  '11  go  down  in  the  mornin'  all 
together  and  see  what  we  shall  find." 

And  Jerry  went  to  he  down  himself,  but  somehow  he 
felt  as  if  he  'd  no  right  to  lie  among  them  that  night  after 
his  evil  thoughts,  so  he  went  and  stretched  himself  on 
the  landing  outside  the  threshold  of  the  door,  and  by 
and  by  they  all  fell  sound  asleep. 

It  was  a  cold  place,  was  Jerry's.  But  the  wind  that 
whistled  up  the  stairs  and  came  up  through  every  crack 
and  cranny  of  the  old  boards  only  made  him  sleep  the 
sweeter,  for  he  dreamed  it  was  the  great  wings  that  had 
come  anigh  him  on  the  mound. 

And  so  they  slept ;  and  there  in  the  room  below,  all 
by  itself  in  the  moonlight,  on  the  clean  white  table- 
cloth, lay  The  Cutjst. 

Now  in  the  moniing  Jerry  woke  with  the  sun  on  his 
face,  and  he  got  up  and  woke  Nance  and  tlie  children.  . 
He  helped  Nance  on  with  her  things,  for  she  was  very 
sick,  and  dressed  each  of  the  httlc  ones  himself,  and 
wliUe  he  dressed  them,  each  had  a  different  dream  to  tell 
him  about  the  Crust,  and  the  angels  that  were  making 


80  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

a  feast  for  tliem  out  of  it.  Aud  Jerry  listened,  feeling  as 
if  his  heart  would  burst,  for  what  could  he  say  if  they 
all  went  down  and  opened  the  door  and  found  only  the 
CutrsT  ?  Still  he  dare  n't  gainsay  that  there  would  be  a 
feast.  He  washed  them  all,  and  made  them  kneel  down 
and  say  the  prayers  Mercy  had  taught  them,  and  he 
made  the  dressing  and  the  prayers  take  as  mucli  time  as 
he  could,  for  he  had  great  fear  of  going  to  the  Crust. 

At  last,  shaking  in  every  limb,  he  took  up  the  two 
youngest,  one  on  each  arm,  and  went  to  the  stairs,  two 
more  took  hold  of  his  coat,  aud  Nance  dragged  herself 
along  after  with  the  others,  and  so  they  all  went  slowly 
down. 

But  when  they  had  got  to  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  and 
Jerry  had  laid  his  thumb  on  the  latch  of  the  room  door, 
liis  heart  quite  failed  him,  for  he  seemed  to  see,  before  he 
opened  it,  the  Ckust  lying  there  with  the  marks  of  the 
dog's  teetli  in  it,  and  all  just  as  he  had  left  it  overnight; 
so  he  turned  and  said  to  them,  in  a  light  kind  of  way,  — 

"  P'r'aps  they  have  n't  done  yet,  little  uns.  You  won't 
be  disappointed  if  so  be  they  ain't  ?  " 

But  seven  pairs  of  black  sharp  eyes  looked  at  him  so 
suspicious  and  so  keen,  that  Jerry  thought  he  'd  better 
get  the  worst  over  at  once,  so  he  lifted  the  latch  and 
pushed  the  door  in. 

He  gave  one  look  into  the  room  before  him,  and  then 
turned  back  suddenly,  as  if  he  'd  had  fire  blown  into  his 
face. 

"Nance,  Nance!"  he  said,  "here's  a  judgment  on 
us  !  Here 's  more  'n  I  can  bear.  O,  look,  old  woman  ! 
Down  on  your  knees  aud  look.      0  little  uns,  I  did  n't 


THE    HAUNTED    CRUST.  81 

believe  not  half  myself,  —  but  come  along !  come  and 
look." 

The  father  and  mother,  on  their  knees  outside  the 
threshold,  and  the  children  clinging  to  them,  all  stared 
into  the  room. 

There  was  a  feast  spread  on  the  cobbler's  table.  Ay, 
a  delicate  feast.  There  was  white  bread,  and  there  was 
wine,  and  rich  pasties,  and  in  the  middle,  where  the 
crust  had  lain,  there  was  a  shining  sdver  basket  of  bright 
Christmas  fruit.  It  was  a  fair  table,  I  can  tell  you,  for 
I  saw  it.  Yes,  I  was  there,  and  I  saw  it.  And  I  saw 
Jerry,  too,  kneehng  with  liis  wife  Nance,  and  the  children 
on  the  threshold. 

"  I  knowed  as  You  'd  heered  me,"  cried  Jerry,  present- 
ly, lifting  his  big  full  eye  to  the  grimy  ceiling.  "  And 
whatever  hand  You '  ve  done  this  by,  human  creetur's  hand 
or  not,  me  aud  my  little  uus  thanks  You  for  it,  and  will 
never  'a'  done  thanking  You  for  it,  while  there  's  bi'cath 
in  our  bodies  ;  and  I  forgive  Dan  Harroway  as  You  've 
forgive  me.  I  forgive  him,  and  I  'm  at  peace  with  him, 
let  him  do  what  he  likes." 

Just  as  they  were  gouig  to  get  up  from  their  knees, 
the  Christmas  waits  ui  the  court  began,  and  among  them 
there  was  Nell  Gwire  and  Alice  Blane,  the  sweetest 
singers  in  all  the  country-side,  and  the  music  seemed  to 
bold  Jeny  and  the  rest  to  their  knees,  for  comiug  just 
then  it  was  like  angels'  voices  giving  them  a  welcome  to 
the  feast.  Nance  and  him  both  began  to  cry  and  cUng 
together ;  and  then  she,  who  had  been  a  good  singer  iu 
her  time,  but  had  n't  sung  for  temper  for  twenty  years, 
began  joining  in,  low  and  soft,  with  her  face  raised  aud 

4  *  1" 


82  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

her  black  liair  falling  all  about  her  to  the  ground ;  and 
one  at  a  time  the  little  things  caught  up  the  tune  and 
sung  out  loud  and  shrill,  like  starved  sparrows  at  the 
sight  of  raiu.  So  loud  aud  shrill  and  piercing  that  I 
could  n't  stand  it  long,  but  went  and  picked  them  up  and 
brought  them  into  the  room.  When  they  all  came  in, 
treading  as  if  the  ground  was  n't  common  ground,  Jerry- 
saw  me  and  said,  — 

"  Is  this  yer  doings,  Matthew  ?  "  says  he ;  aud  I  said, 
"No." 

"Then,"  says  Jeny,  "tell  me  what  man's  doings  it 
is,  that  I  may  thank  him,  and  that  all  my  little  uus  may 
thank  him." 

"  Jerry,"  said  I,  taking  him  apart,  "  when  you  run  out 
in  your  sore  trouble  last  night,  you  met  a  man." 

"  Ay  !  "  says  Jerry,  looking  at  me  hard. 

"  You  threw  him  down  and  told  him  your  ti'ouble,  and 
before  he  had  got  free  of  his  first  fright,  you  saw  who  he 
was  and  left  him." 

"  Ay,"  said  Jerry  again,  with  a  shudder. 

"  You  went  up  a  mound  in  the  brick-fields  ?  " 

"Ay." 

"You  went  up  and  told  your  trouble  to  some  one 
else.  You  did  n't  see  that  man  following  you  aud  hsten- 
ing  to  you  ?  No.  Nor  you  did  n't  see  that  man  lookmg 
at  you  through  that  window,  when  you  laid  your  crust 
out." 

"  No,"  said  Jerry. 

"  Well,  he  saw  you,  then ;  he  saw  all,  and  he  came  and 
knocked  me  up  out  of  my  bed,  and  we  went  in  the  night 
to  Bassett  aud  fetched  Mercy.     And  that  man  fetched 


THE    HAUNTED    CRUST.  83 

tlie  best  silver  plate  out  of  liis  father's  house,  and  the 
best  Christmas  pasties  aud  wiue,  aud  we  three  laid  the 
feast  together." 

"And  where  is  that  man  ? "  said  Jerry,  hardly  noticing 
Mercy  as  she  came  from  where  she  was  feeding  the 
children. 

"  When  he  had  laid  the  feast,  Jerry,  he  went  outside." 

"  Is  he  there  now  ?  "  said  Jerry. 

"Perhaps  he  is." 

Jerry  said  nothing  more,  but  went  out. 

Dan  was  there. 

"Dan  Harroway,"  said  Jerry,  "I've  spoke  words  to 
you  as  I  can't  never  take  back,  because  they  was  true." 

"  I  don't  want  you  to  take  'em  back,  Jerry  Rouse," 
said  Dan.     "  I  know  they  were  true." 

"Then,  Dan  Harroway,  though  I  can't  take  them 
words  back,  I  can  teU  you  this,  and  that  is  as  this  yer 
thing  you  've  done  this  yer  Christmas  eve  has  made  me 
feel  that  for  you  I  never  felt  for  mortal  man  afore.  You 
aiu't  only  spread  them  fine  wittles  in  there,  but  there  's  a 
somethm'  you've  brought  anigh  me  as  I've  Inmgered 
for  without  knowin'  it  this  many  a  year.  I  don't  arst 
you  to  come  in,  I  ain't  wortliy  as  you  should  come  in ; 
but,  Dan  Harroway,  I  should  like  to  shake  you  by  the 
hand,  and  I  should  Uke  the  little  uns  to  thank  you." 

There  !    I  suppose  you  guess  the  rest. 

Of  course  Dan  did  n't  go  in  then,  nor  let  Jeriy  show 
him  off  to  the  children  as  the  angel  in  top-boots  that  had 
been  sent  to  make  these  wonderful  things  out  of  the 
Crust.  Of  course  he  did  n't  sit  at  tlie  end  of  the  table 
by  Mercy  all  the  time  of  the  feast,  and  have  tliose  bright 


84  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

top-boots  smeared  all  over  afterwards  by  thankful,  dirty 
little  hands.  And  of  course  Jerry  got  turned  out  by  his 
landlord  next  day ! 

They  were  married,  Dan  and  Mercy,  when  the  blue 
hyacinths  came  round  again,  and  you  could  smell  nothing 
else  from  GadshiU-iu-the-rields  to  the  church,  and  Mercy 
wore  them  in  her  hair. 


A    DISSERTATION    UPON    ROAST    PIG. 


BY  CHARLES  LAMB. 


-iNKIND,  says  a  Chinese  manuscript,  wliich  my 
friend  M.  was  obliging  enough  to  read  and 
explain  to  me,  for  the  first  seventy  thousand 
ages  ate  their  meat  raw,  clawing  or  biting  it  from  the 
living  animal,  just  as  they  do  in  Abyssinia  to  this  day. 
This  period  is  not  obscurely  hinted  at  by  their  great 
Confucius  in  the  second  chapter  of  his  Mundane  Muta- 
tions, where  he  designates  a  kind  of  golden  age  by  the 
term  Cho-faug,  literally  the  Cooks'  Holiday.  The  manu- 
script goes  on  to  say,  that  the  art  of  roasting,  or  rather 
broiling  (which  I  take  to  be  the  elder  brother),  was 
accidentally  discovered  in  the  mamier  followhig.  The 
swineherd,  Ho-ti,  having  gone  out  into  the  woods  one 
morning,  as  his  manner  was,  to  collect  mast  for  his  hogs, 
left  his  cottage  in  the  care  of  his  eldest  son.  Bo-bo,  a 
great  lubberly  boy,  who,  being  fond  of  playing  with  fire, 
as  younkers  of  his  age  commonly  are,  let  some  sparks 
escape  into  a  bundle  of  straw,  which,  kindling  quickly, 
spread  the  conflagration  over  every  part  of  their  poor 
mansion,  till  it  was  reduced  to  ashes.      Together  with 


Ob  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

the  cottage  (a  sorry  antediluvian  makesliift  of  a  building, 
you  may  tliiuk  it),  what  was  of  much  more  importance, 
a  fine  litter  of  new-farrowed  pigs,  no  less  than  nine  in 
number,  perished.  China  pigs  have  been  esteemed  a 
luxury  all  over  the  East,  from  the  remotest  periods  that 
we  read  of.  Bo-bo  was  in  the  utmost  consternation,  as 
you  may  think,  not  so  much  for  the  sake  of  the  tenement, 
which  his  father  and  he  could  easily  build  up  again  with 
a  few  dry  branches,  and  the  labor  of  an  hour  or  two, 
at  any  time,  as  for  the  loss  of  the  pigs.  While  he  was 
thinking  what  he  should  say  to  his  father,  and  wringing 
his  hands  over  the  smoking  remnants  of  one  of  those 
untimely  sufferers,  an  odor  assailed  his  nostrils,  unlike 
any  scent  which  he  had  before  experienced.  What  could 
it  proceed  from  ?  Not  from  the  burnt  cottage,  —  he  had 
smelt  that  smell  before ;  indeed  this  was  by  no  means 
the  first  accident  of  the  kind  which  had  occun-ed  through 
the  negligence  of  this  unlucky  young  firebrand.  Much 
less  did  it  resemble  that  of  any  known  herb,  weed,  or 
flower.  A  premonitory  moistening  at  the  same  time 
overflowed  his  nether  hp.  He  knew  not  what  to  think. 
He  next  stooped  down  to  feel  the  pig,  if  th^i'e  were  any 
signs  of  life  in  it.  He  burnt  his  fingers,  and  to  cool 
them  he  applied  them  in  his  booby  fasliion  to  his  mouth. 
Some  of  the  crumbs  of  the  scorched  skin  had  come  away 
with  his  fingers,  and  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  (in  the 
world's  life  indeed,  for  before  him  no  man  had  known  it) 
he  tasted  —  crackling  !  Again  he  felt  and  fumbled  at 
the  pig.  It  did  not  burn  him  so  much  now,  still  he 
licked  his  fingers  from  a  sort  of  habit.  The  truth  at 
length  broke  into  his  slow  understaudLng  that  it  was  the 


A.   DISSEETATION    UPON    ROAST    PIG.  S'^ 

pig  that  smelt  so,  and  the  pig  that  tasted  so  delicious ; 
and,  surrendering  himself  up  to  the  new-born  pleasure, 
he  fell  to  tearing  up  whole  handfuls  of  the  scorched  skin 
with  the  flesh  next  it,  and  was  cramming  it  down  his 
throat  in  his  beastly  fashion,  when  his  sire  entered  amid 
the  smoking  rafters,  armed  with  retributory  cudgel,  and, 
finding  how  affairs  stood,  began  to  rain  blows  upon  the 
young  rogue's  shoulders,  as  thick  as  hail-stones,  which 
Bo-bo  heeded  not  any  more  than  if  they  had  been  flies. 
The  tickling  pleasure,  which  he  experienced  in  liis  lower 
regions,  had  rendered  him  quite  callous  to  any  incon- 
veniences he  might  feel  in  those  remote  quarters.  His 
father  might  lay  on,  but  he  could  not  beat  him  from  his 
pig,  till  he  had  fairly  made  an  end  of  it,  when,  becoming 
a  little  more  sensible  of  his  situation,  something  lllve  the 
following  dialogue  ensued  :  — 

"You  graceless  whelp,  what  have  you  got  there  de- 
vouring ?  Is  it  not  enough  that  you  have  burnt  me  down 
three  houses  with  your  dog's  tricks,  and  be  hanged  to 
you  !  but  you  must  be  eating  fire,  and  I  know  not  what  ? 
What  have  you  got  there,  I  say  ?  " 

"  O  father,  the  pig,  the  pig !  do  come  and  taste  how 
nice  the  burnt  pig  eats." 

The  ears  of  Ho-ti  tingled  with  horror.  He  cursed  his 
son,  and  he  cursed  himself  that  ever,  he  should  beget  a 
son  that  should  cat  burnt  pig. 

Bo-bo,  whose  scent  was  wonderfully  sharpened  since 
morning,  soon  raked  out  another  pig,  and  fairly  rending 
it  asunder,  thrust  the  lesser  half  by  main  force  into  the 
fists  of  Ho-ti,  still  shouting  out,  "  Eat,  eat,  eat  the  burnt 
pig,  father,  only  taste  —  O  Lord !  "  with  such-like  barba- 


88  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

rous  ejaculations,  cramming  all  the  -nliile  as  if  he  would 
choke. 

Ho-ti  trembled  every  joiut  while  he  grasped  the  abom- 
inable thing,  wavering  whether  he  should  not  put  his 
son  to  death  for  an  unnatural  young  monster,  when  the 
crackling  scorching  his  fingers,  as  it  had  done  his  son's, 
and,  applying  the  same  remedy  to  them,  he  in  his  turn 
tasted  some  of  its  flavor,  which,  make  what  sour  mouths 
he  would  for  pretence,  proved  not  altogether  displeasing 
to  him.  In  conclusion  (for  the  manuscript  here  is  a  little 
tedious)  both  father  and  son  fairly  set  down  to  the  mess, 
and  never  left  off  till  they  had  despatched  all  that  re- 
mained of  the  litter. 

Bo-bo  was  strictly  enjoined  not  to  let  the  secret  es- 
cape, for  the  neighbors  would  certainly  have  stoned  them 
for  a  couple  of  abominable  wretches,  who  could  think 
of  improving  upon  the  good  meat  which  God  had  sent 
them.  Nevertheless,  strange  stories  got  about.  It  was 
observed  that  Ho-ti's  cottage  was  burnt  down  now  more 
frequently  than  ever.  Nothing  but  fires  from  this  time 
forward.  Some  would  break  out  in  broad  day,  others 
in  the  night-time.  As  often  as  the  sow  farrowed,  so 
sure  was  the  house  of  Ho-ti  to  be  in  a  blaze  ;  and  Ho-ti 
himself,  which  was  the  more  remarkable,  instead  of  chas- 
tising his  son,  seemed  to  grow  more  indulgent  to  him 
than  ever.  At  length  they  were  watched,  the  terrible 
mystery  discovered,  and  father  and  son  summoned  to 
take  their  trial  at  Pckin,  then  an  inconsiderable  assize 
town.  Evidence  was  given,  the  obnoxious  food  itself 
pi'oduccd  in  court,  and  verdict  about  to  be  pronounced, 
when  the  foreman  of  the  jury  l)cggcd  that  soure  of  the 


A   DISSERTATION   UPON    ROAST    PIG.  89 

burut  pig,  of  which  the  culprits  stood  accused,  might  be 
handed  into  tlie  box.  He  handled  it,  and  .they  all  han- 
dled it ;  and,  burning  their  fingers,  as  Bo-bo  and  his  father 
had  done  before  them,  and  nature  prompting  to  each  of 
them  the  same  remedy,  against  the  face  of  all  the  facts, 
and  the  clearest  charge  which  judge  had  ever  given,  — 
to  the  surprise  of  the  whole  court,  to'waisfollc,  strangers, 
reporters,  and  all  present,  —  without  leaving  the  box,  or 
any  manner  of  consultation  whatever,  they  brought  in  a 
simultaneous  verdict  of  Not  Guilty. 

The  judge,  who  was  a  shrewd  fellow,  winked  at  the 
manifest  iniquity  of  the  decision;  and  when  the  court 
was  dismissed,  went  privily,  and  bought  up  all  the  pigs 
that  could  be  had  for  love  or  money.  In  a  few  days 
his  Lordship's  town-house  was  observed  to  be  on  fire. 
The  thing  took  wing,  and  now  there  was  notliing  to  be 
seen  but  fire  in  every  direction.  Euel  and  pigs  grew 
enormously  dear  all  over  the  district.  The  insurance 
offices  one  and  all  shut  up  shop.  People  built  slighter 
and  slighter  every  day,  until  it  was  feared  that  the  very 
science  of  architecture  would  in  no  long  time  be  lost  to 
the  world.  Thus  this  custom  of  firing  houses  continued, 
till  in  process  of  time,  says  my  manuscript,  a  sage  ai'ose, 
like  our  Locke,  who  made  a  discovery  that  the  flesh  of 
swine,  or  indeed  of  any  other  animal,  might  be  cooked 
{burnt,  as  they  called  it)  without  the  necessity  of  consum- 
ing a  whole  house  to  dress  it.  Then  first  began  the  rude 
form  of  a  gridiron.  Roasting  by  the  string  or  spit  came 
in  a  century  or  two  later,  I  forget  in  w'hose  dynasty. 
By  such  slow  degrees,  concludes  the  manuscript,  do  the 
most  usefid  and  seemingly  the  most  obvious  arts  nicake 
their  way  among  miuikind. 


90  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

Without  placing  too  implicit  faith  m  the  account  above 
given,  it  must  be  agreed,  that  if  a  worthy  pretext  for 
so  dangerous  an  experiment  as  setting  houses  on  fire 
(especially  in  these  days)  could  be  assigned  in  favor  of 
any  culinary  object,  that  pretext  and  excuse  might  be 
found  in  roast  pig. 

Of  all  the  delicacies  in  the  whole  immdus  edibilis, 
I  will  maintam  it  to  be  the  most  dehcate, — princeps 
obsonioru'M. 

I  speak  not  of  your  grown  porkers  —  things  between 
pig  and  pork  —  those  hobbydehoys  —  but  a  young  and 
tender  sucklmg — under  a  moon  old  —  guiltless  as  yet 
of  the  sty  —  with  no  original  speck  of  the  amor  immun- 
ditife,  the  hereditary  failing  of  the  first  parent,  yet  mani- 
fest —  his  voice  as  yet  not  broken,  but  something  between 
a  childish  treble  and  a  grumble  • —  the  mild  forerunner, 
or  precludium,  of  a  grant. 

He  must  be  roasted.  I  am  not  ignorant  that  our  an- 
cestors ate  them  seethed,  or  boiled,  —  but  what  a  sacri- 
fice of  the  exterior  tegument ! 

There  is  no  flavor  comparable,  I  will  contend,  to  that 
of  the  crisp,  tawny,  well-watched,  not  over-roasted, 
crackling,  as  it  is  well  called  —  the  very  teeth  are  invited 
to  their  share  of  the  pleasure  at  this  banquet  in  over- 
coming the  coy,  Imttle  resistance  —  with  the  adhesive 
oleaginous  —  0  call  it  not  fat !  but  an  indefinable  sweet- 
ness growing  up  to  it  —  the  tender  blossoming  of  fat  — 
fat  cropped  in  the  bud  —  taken  in  the  shoot  • —  in  the  first 
innocence  —  the  cream  and  quintessence  of  the  child-pig's 
yet  pure  food  —  the  lean,  no  lean,  but  a  kind  of  animal 
manna  —  or,  rather,  fat  and  lean  (if  it  must  be  so)  so 


A   DISSERTATION    UPON    EOAST    PIG.  91 

blended  and  running  into  each  other,  that  both  together 
make  but  one  ambrosian  result,  or  common  substance. 

Behold  him,  while  he  is  "doing,"  — ^it  seemeth  rather 
a  refreshing  warmth,  tliau  a  scorching  heat,  that  he  is  so 
passive  to.  How  equably  he  twirleth  round  the  string  ! 
Now  he  is  just  done.  To  see  the  extreme  sensibility  of 
that  tender  age !  he  hath  wept  out  his  pretty  eyes  — 
radiant  jellies  —  shooting  stai's. 

See  him  in  the  dish,  his  second  cradle,  how  meek  he 
lieth  !  Wouldst  thou  have  had  tliis  innocent  grow  up  to 
the  grossness  and  indocuity  which  too  often  accompany 
maturer  swinehood  ?  Ten  to  one  he  would  have  proved 
a  glutton,  a  sloven,  an  obstinate,  disagreeahle  animal  — 
wallowmg  in  all  manner  of  filthy  conversation  —  from 
these  sins  he  is  happily  snatched  away  — 

Ere  sin  could  bhglit  or  sorrow  fade. 
Death  came  with  timely  care  — 

his  memory  is  odoriferous  —  no  clown  curseth,  while  his 
stomach  half  rejecteth,  the  rank  bacon  —  no  coal-heaver 
bolteth  him  in  reeking  sausages  —  he  hath  a  fair  sepulcljre 
in  the  grateful  stomach  of  the  judicious  epicure  —  and 
for  such  a  tomb  miglit  be  content  to  die. 

He  is  the  best  of  sapors.  Pineapple  is  great.  She  is 
indeed  almost  too  transcendent  —  a  delight,  if  not  sinful, 
yet  so  like  to  sinning  that  really  a  teuder-conscienced 
person  woidd  do  well  to  pause  —  too  ravishing  for  mortal 
taste,  she  woundeth  and  excoriateth  the  hps  that  approach 
her  —  like  lovers'  kisses,  she  biteth  —  she  is  a  pleasure 
bordermg  on  pain  from  the  fierceness  and  insanity  of  her 
relish  —  but  she  stoppeth  at  the  palate  —  she  meddleth 


92  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

not  with  tbe  appetite  —  aud  the  coarsest  liunger  might 
barter  her  consistently  for  a  mutton-chop. 

Pig  —  let  me  speak  his  praise  —  is  no  less  provocative 
of  the  appetite  than  he  is  satisfactory  to  the  criticalness 
of  the  censorious  palate.  The  strong  man  may  batten  on 
him,  aud  tlie  weakling  refuseth  not  his  mild  j  uices, 

Urdike  to  mankind's  mixed  characters,  a  bundle  of 
virtues  and  vices,  inexpUcably  intertwisted,  and  not  to 
be  unravelled  without  hazard,  he  is  —  good  throughout. 
No  part  of  him  is  better  or  worse  than  another.  He 
helpeth,  as  far  as  his  little  means  extend,  all  around. 
He  is  the  least  envious  of  banquets.  He  is  all  neigh- 
bors' fare. 

I  am  one  of  those  who  freely  and  ungrudgingly  impart 
a  share  of  the  good  things  of  this  hfe  which  fall  to  their 
lot  (few  as  mine  are  in  this  kind)  to  a  friend.  I  protest 
I  take  as  great  an  interest  in  my  friend's  pleasures, 
his  relishes,  and  proper  satisfactions,  as  in  mine  own. 
"Presents,"  I  often  say,  "endear  Absents."  Hares, 
pheasants,  partridges,  snipes,  barn-door  chickens  (those 
"tame  villatic  fowl"),  capons,  plovers,  brawn,  barrels  of 
oysters,  I  dispense  as  freely  as  I  receive  them.  I  love  to 
taste  them,  as  it  were,  upon  the  tongue  of  my  friend. 
But  a  stop  must  be  put  somewhere.  One  would  not, 
like  Lear,  "  give  everything."  I  make  my  stand  upon 
pig.  Methmks  it  is  an  ingratitude  to  the  Giver  of  all 
good  flavors  to  extra-domiciliate  or  send  out  of  the 
house,  slightingly  (under  pretext  of  friendship,  or  I  know 
not  what),  a  blessing  so  particularly  adapted,  predestined, 
I  may  say,  to  my  individual  palate.  It  argues  an  in- 
sensibility. 


A   DISSERTATION    UPON    ROAST    PIG.  93 

I  remember  a  toucli  of  conscience  in  this  kind  at 
school.  Mj  good  old  aunt,  who  never  parted  from  me 
at  the  end  of  a  holiday  without  stuiSng  a  sweetmeat,  or 
some  nice  thing,  into  my  pocket,  had  dismissed  me  one 
evening  with  a  smoking  plum-cake,  fresh  fi'om  the  oven. 
In  my  way  to  school  (it  was  over  London  Bridge)  a  gray- 
headed  old  beggar  saluted  me  (I  have  no  doubt,  at  this 
time  of  day,  that  he  was  a  counterfeit).  I  had  no  pence 
to  console  him  with,  and  in  the  vanity  of  self-denial,  and 
the  very  coxcombry  of  charity,  schoolboy-like,  I  made 
him  a  present  of  —  the  whole  cake  !  I  walked  on  a  little, 
buoyed  up,  as  one  is  on  such  occasions,  with  a  sweet 
soothing  of  self-satisfaction  ;  but  before  I  had  got  to  the 
end  of  the  bridge,  my  better  feelmgs  returned,  and  I 
burst  into  tears,  thinking  how  ungrateful  I  had  been  to 
my  good  aunt,  to  go  and  give  her  good  gift  away  to  a 
stranger  that  I  had  never  seen  before,  and  who  might  be 
a  bad  man  for  aught  I  knew ;  and  then  1  thought  of  the 
pleasure  my  aunt  would  be  taking  in  thinking  that  I  —  I 
myself,  and  not  another  — •  would  eat  her  nice  cake  — 
and  what  should  I  say  to  her  the  next  time  I  saw  her 
—  how  naughty  I  was  to  part  with  her  pretty  present !  — 
and  the  odor  of  that  spicy  cake  came  back  upon  my 
recollection,  and  the  pleasure  and  the  curiosity  I  had 
taken  in  seeing  her  make  it,  and  her  joy  when  she  had 
sent  it  to  the  oven,  and  how  disappointed  she  would  feel 
that  I  had  never  had  a  bit  of  it  in  my  mouth  at  last  — 
and  I  blamed  my  impertinent  spirit  of  alms-giving,  and 
out-of-plaee  hypocrisy  of  goodness ;  and  above  all  I 
wished  never  to  see  the  face  again  of  that  insidious, 
good-for-nothing,  old  gray  impostor. 


94  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

Our  ancestors  were  nice  in  tlieir  metliod  of  sacrificing 
these  tender  victims.  We  read  of  pigs  whipt  to  death, 
•with  something  of  a  shock,  as  we  hear  of  any  other 
obsolete  custom.  The  age  of  discipline  is  gone  by,  or  it 
would  be  curious  to  inquire  (in  a  philosophical  light 
merely)  what  effect  this  process  might  have  towards  in- 
tenerating  and  dulcifying  a  substance,  naturally  so  mild 
and  dulcet  as  the  flesh  of  young  pigs.  It  looks  like 
retuiing  a  violet.  Yet  we  should  be  cautious,  while  we 
condemn  the  inhumanity,  how  we  censure  the  wisdom  of 
the  practice.     It  might  impart  a  gusto. 

I  remember  an  hypothesis,  argued  upon  by  the  yoimg 
students,  when  I  was  at  St.  Omer's,  and  maintained  with  ^ 
much  learning  and  pleasantry  on  both  sides,  "TYhethcii^' 
supposing  that  the  flavor  of  a  pig  who  obtained  his 
death  by  whipping  {per  flag  ell  at  ion  em  extremam)  super- 
added a  pleasure  upon  the  palate  of  a  man  more  intense 
than  any  possible  suffering  we  can  conceive  ia  the  animal, 
is  man  justified  in  using  that  method  of  putting  the 
animal  to  death  ?  "     I  forget  the  decision. 

His  sauce  should  be  considered.  Decidedly,  a  few 
bread  crumbs,  done  up  with  his  liver  and  brains,  and  a 
dash  of  mdd  sage.  But  banish,  dear  Mrs.  Cook,  I 
beseech  you,  the  whole  onion  tribe.  Barbecue  your 
whole  hogs  to  your  palate,  steep  them  in  shalots,  stuff 
them  out  witli  plantations  of  the  rank  and  guilty  garhc ; 
you  cannot  poison  them,  or  make  them  stronger  than 
they  are ;   but  consider,  he  is  a  weakling,  —  a  flower. 


THE  TOTAL  DEPRAVITY  OF  INAJTBTATE 
THINGS. 

BY  MRS.  E.   A.  WALKER. 


AM  conlident,  that,  at  the  annunciation  of  my 
tlieme,  Andover,  Princeton,  and  Cambridge  will 
skip  like  rams,  and  the  little  hills  of  East  Wind- 
sor, Meadville,  and  Fairfax,  like  lambs.  However  divin- 
ity schools  may  refuse  to  "  skip "  in  unison,  and  may 
butt  and  batter  each  other  about  the  doctrine  and  origin 
of  human  depravity,  all  will  join  devoutly  in  the  credo,  I 
believe  in  the  total  depravity  of  inanimate  things. 

The  whole  subject  lies  in  a  nutshell,  or  rather  an  apple- 
skin.  We  have  clerical  authority  for  affirming  that  all 
its  misei'ies  wei'e  let  loose  upon  the  human  race  by  "  them 
greenins  "  tempting  our  mother  to  curious  pomological 
speciilations ;  and  from  that  time  till  now,  —  Longfellow, 
thou  reasonest  well !  —  "things  are  not  what  they  seem," 
but  are  diabolically  otherwise,  —  masked  batteries,  nets, 
gins,  and  snares  of  evil. 

(In  this  connection  I  am  reminded  of — can  I  ever 
cease  to  remember  ?  —  the  unlucky  lecturer  at  our  lyceum 
a  few  winters  ago,  who,  on  rising  to  address  his  audience, 
applauding  him  all  the  while  most  vehemently,  pidled  out 


96  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

liis  handkerchief,  for  oratorical  purposes  only,  and  inad- 
vertently flung  from  his  pocket  three  "  Baldwins  "  that  a 
friend  had  given  to  him  on  his  way  to  the  hall,  straight 
into  the  front  row  of  giggling  girls.) 

My  zeal  on  this  subject  received  new  impetus  recently 
from  an  exclamation  wliich  pierced  the  thin  partitions  of 
the  country-parsonage,  once  my  home,  where  I  chanced 
to  be  a  guest. 

Trom  the  adjoining  dressing-room  issued  a  prolonged 
"  Y-ah !  "  —  not  the  howl  of  a  spoiled  child,  nor  the  pro- 
test of  a  captive  gorilla,  but  the  whole-souled  utterance 
of  a  mighty  son  of  Anak,  whose  amiability  is  invulnerable 
to  weapons  of  human  aggravation. 

I  paused  in  the  midst  of  toilet  exigencies,  and  listened 
sympathetically,  for  I  recognized  the  probable  presence 
of  the  old  enemy  to  whom  the  bravest  and  sweetest  suc- 
cumb. 

Confirmation  and  explanation  followed  speedily  in 
the  half-apologetic,  wholly  wrathful  declaration,  "  The 
pitcher  was  made  foolish  ui  the  first  place."  I  dare 
affirm,  that,  if  the  spirit  of  Lindley  Murray  himself  were 
at  that  moment  hovering  over  that  scene  of  trial,  he 
dropped  a  tear,  or,  better  stiU,  an  adverbial  ly  upon  the 
'  false  grammar,  and  blotted  it  out  forever. 

I  comprehended  the  scene  at  once.  I  had  been  there. 
I  felt  again  the  remorseless  swash  of  the  water  over  neat 
boots  and  immaculate  hose  ;  I  saw  the  perverse  intrica- 
cies of  its  meauderings  over  the  carpet,  upon  which  the 
"  foolish "  pitcher  had  been  confidingly  deposited ;  I 
knew,  beyond  the  necessity  of  ocular  demonstration, 
that,  as  sure  as  there  were  "  pipe-hole  "  or  crack  in  the 


TOTAL   DEPRAVITY    OP    INANIMATE    THINGS.    97 

ceiling  of  the  study  below,  those  maiiimate  things  would 
inevitably  put  their  evil  heads  together,  and  bring  to 
grief  tlie  long-suffering  Doniuiic,  with  whom,  during  my 
day,  such  inundations  had  been  of  at  least  bi-weekly  oc- 
currence, instigated  by  crinoKne.  The  inherent  wicked- 
ness of  that  "  thing  of  beauty  "  will  be  acknowledged 
by  all  mankind,  and  by  every  female  not  reduced  to  the 
deplorable  poverty  of  the  heroine  of  the  followhig  vera- 
cious anecdote. 

A  certain  good  bishop,  on  making  a  tour  of  inspection 
through  a  mission-school  of  his  diocese,  was  so  impressed 
by  the  aspect  of  all  its  beneficiaries,  that  his  heart  over- 
flowed with  joy,  and  he  exclauned  to  a  little  maiden 
whose  appearance  was  particularly  suggestive  of  creature- 
comforts,  "  Why,  my  little  girl !  you  have  everythmg 
that  heart  can  wish,  have  n't  you  ?  "  Imagine  the  bewil- 
derment and  horror  of  the  prelate,  when  the  miniature 
Flora  McFlimsey  drew  down  the  corners  of  her  mouth 
lugubriously,  and  sought  to  accommodate  the  puffs  and 
dimples  of  her  fat  little  body  to  an  expression  of  abject 
misery,  as  she  replied,  "  No,  indeed,  sir !  I  have  n't 
got  any  — -  skeleton !  " 

We,  who  have  suffered,  know  the  disposition  of  grace- 
less "skeletons  "  to  hang  themselves  on  "foolish"  pitch- 
ers, bureau-knobs,  rockers,  cobble-stones,  splinters,  nails, 
and,  indeed,  any  projection  a  tenth  of  a  line  beyond  a 
dead  level. 

Tlie  mention  of  nails  is  suggestive  of  vohuniuous  dis- 
tresses. Country-parsonages,  from  some  inexplicable 
reason,  arc  wont  to  bristle  all  over  with  these  impish  as- 
sailants of  human  comfort. 

VOL.  V.  5  Q 


98  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

I  never  ventured  to  leave  my  masculine  relatives  to 
their  own  devices  for  more  than  twenty-four  consecutive 
hours,  that  I  did  not  return  to  find  that  they  had  seem- 
ingly manifested  their  grief  at  my  absence  after  the  old 
Hebraic  method  ("  more  honored  in  the  breach  than  the 
observance  "),  by  rending  their  garments.  Wlien  sum- 
moned to  their  account,  the  invariable  defence  has  been 
a  vehement  denunciation  of  some  particular  nail  as  the 
guilty  cause  of  my  woes. 

By  the  way,  0  Christian  woman  of  the  nineteenth  cen- 
tury, did  it  ever  enter  your  heart  to  give  devout  thanks 
that  you  did  not  share  the  woe  of  those  whose  fate  it  was 
to  "  sojourn  in  Mesech  and  dwell  in  the  tents  of  Kedar  "  ? 
that  it  did  not  fall  to  your  lot  to  do  the  plain  sewing  and 
mending  for  some  Jewish  patriarch,  patriot,  or  prophet  of 
yore? 

Realize,  if  you  can,  the  masculine  aggravation  and  the 
feminine  long-suffering  of  a  period  when  the  head  of  a 
family  could  neither  go  down  town,  nor  even  sit  at  his 
tent-door,  without  descrying  some  wickedness  in  high 
places,  some  insulting  placard,  some  exasperating  war- 
bidletin,  some  offensive  order  from  headquarters,  which 
caused  him  to  transform  himself  instantly  into  an  ani- 
mated rag-bag.  Whereas,  in  these  women-saving  days, 
similar  grievances  send  President  Abraham  into  his  Cabi- 
net to  issue  a  proclamation,  the  Reverend  Jeremiah  into 
his  pulpit  with  a  scathing  homily,  Poet-Laureate  David 
to  the  "Atlantic"  with  a  burning  lyric,  and  Mnjor-Gen- 
eral  Joab  to  the  privacy  of  his  tent,  ihere  to  calm  his 
perturbed  spirit  with  Drake's  Plautaiion  Bitters.  In 
humble  imitation  of  another,  I  would  state  that  this  in- 


TOTAL   DEPRAVITY    OF    INANIMATE    THINGS.    99 

dorsement  of  the  potency  of  a  specific  is  entirely  gratui- 
tous, and  that  I  am  stimulated  thereto  by  no  remunera- 
tion, fluid  or  otherwise. 

Blessed  be  this  day  of  sewing-machines  for  women, 
and  of  safety-valves  and  innocent  explosives  for  their 
lords  !     But  this  is  a  digression. 

I  awoke  very  early  in  life  to  the  consciousness  that  I 
held  the  doctrine  which  we  are  considering. 

On  a  hapless  day  when  I  was  perhaps  five  years  old,  I 
was,  in  my  own  estimation,  intrusted  with  the  family 
dignity,  when  I  was  deposited  for  the  day  at  the  house 
of  a  lordly  Pharisee  of  the  parish,  with  solemnly  repeated 
instructions  in  table-manners  and  the  like. 

One  who  never  analyzed  the  mysteries  of  a  sensitive 
chUd's  heart  cannot  appreciate  the  sense  of  awful  respon- 
sibility which  oppressed  me  during  that  visit.  But  all 
went  faultlessly  for  a  time.  I  corrected  myself  instantly 
each  tune  I  said,  "  Yes,  ma'am,"  to  Mr.  Simon,  and 
"  No,  sir,"  to  Madam,  which  was  as  often  as  I  addressed 
them ;  I  clinched  little  fists  and  lips  resolutely,  that  they 
might  not  touch,  taste,  handle,  temptuig  bijouterie ;  I 
even  held  in  check  the  spirit  of  inquiry  rampant  within 
me,  and  indulged  myself  with  only  one  question  to  every 
three  minutes  of  time. 

At  last  I  found  myself  at  the  handsome  dinner-table, 
triumphantly  mounted  upon  two  "  Comprehensive  Com- 
mentaries "  and  a  dictionary,  fearuig  no  evil  from  the 
viands  before  me.  Least  of  all  did  I  suspect  the  vege- 
tables of  guile.  But  deep  in  the  heart  of  a  bland,  mealy- 
mouthed  potato  lurked  cruel  designs  upon  my  fair  repu- 
tation. 


100  LITTLE    CLASSICS, 

No  sooner  had  I,  in  tlie  most  approved  style  of  nur- 
sery good-breeding,  applied  my  fork  to  its  surface,  than 
the  hard-hearted  thing  executed  a  wild  pirouette  before 
my  astonished  eyes,  and  then  flew  on  impish  wmgs  across 
the  room,  dashing  out  its  maUcious  brains,  I  am  happy 
to  say,  against  the  parlor-door,  but  leaving  me  in  a  half- 
comatose  state,  stirred  only  by  vague  longings  for  a  lodge 
with  "proud  Korah's  troop,"  whose  destination  is  un- 
mistakably set  forth  in  the  "  Shorter  Catechism." 

There  is  a  possibility  that  I  received  my  uinate  dis- 
trust of  things  by  inheritance  from  my  maternal  grand- 
mother, whose  holy  horror  at  the  profanity  they  once 
provoked  from  a  bosom-friend  in  her  clnldhood  was  stQl 
vivid  in  her  old  age. 

It  was  on  this  wise.  When  stdl  a  pretty  Puritan 
maiden,  my  grandame  was  tempted  irresistibly  by  the 
spring  sunshine  to  the  tabooed  indulgence  of  a  Sunday 
walk.  The  temptation  was  probably  intensified  by  the 
presence  of  the  British  troops,  giving  unwonted  fasci- 
nation to  village  promenades.  Her  confederate  in  this 
guilty  pleasure  was  a  like-minded  little  saint ;  so  there 
was  a  tacit  agreement  between  them  that  their  trans- 
gression should  be  sanctified  by  a  strict  adherence  to  re- 
ligious topics  of  conversation.  Accordingly  they  launched 
boldly  upon  the  great  subject  which  was  just  then  agitat- 
ing church  circles  in  New  England. 

Fortune  smiled  upon  these  criminals  against  the  Blue 
Laws,  until  they  encountered  a  wall  surmounted  by 
hickory  rails.  Without  intermitting  the  discussion,  Su- 
sannah sprang  agUcly  up.  Quoth  she,  balancing  herseK 
for  one  moment  upon  the   summit,  "No,  no,  Betsey! 


TOTAL  DEPRAVITY  OF  INANIMATE  THINGS.    101 

/  believe  God  is  the  author  of  sin !  "  The  next  she 
sprang  toward  the  ground ;  but  a  salieut  splinter,  a 
chip  of  depravity,  clutched  her  Sunday  gown,  and  con- 
verted her  incontinently,  it  seems,  into  a  confessor  of  the 
opposing  faith;  for  history  records,  that,  following  the 
above-mentioned  dogma,  came  from  hitherto  unstainfcd 
lips,  "  The  Devil!"- 

Time  and  space  would,  of  course,  be  inadequate  to  the 
enumeration  of  all  the  demonstrations  of  the  truth  of  the 
doctrine  of  the  absolute  depravity  of  things.  A  few  ex- 
amples only  can  be  cited. 

There  is  melancholy  pleasure  in  the  knowledge  that 
a  great  soul  has  gone  mourning  before  me  in  the  path 
I  am  now  pursumg.  It  was  only  to-day,  that,  in  glan- 
cing over  the  pages  of  Victor  Hugo's  greatest  work,  I 
chanced  upon  the  following :  "  Every  one  will  have  no- 
ticed with  what  skill  a  coin  let  fall  upon  the  ground 
runs  to  hide  itself,  and  what  art  it  has  in  rendering  itself 
invisible ;  there  are  thoughts  that  play  us  the  same  trick." 

The  similar  tendency  of  pins  and  needles  is  universally 
understood  and  execrated,  —  their  base  secretiveness 
when  searched  for,  and  their  incensing  intrusion  when 
one  is  off  guard. 

I  know  a  man  whose  sense  of  their  malignity  is  so 
keen  that,  whenever  he  catches  a  gleam  of  their  treacher- 
ous lustre  on  the  carpet,  he  instantly  draws -his  two  and 
a  quarter  yards  of  length  into  the  smallest  possible  com- 
pass, and  shrieks  until  the  domestic  police  come  to  the 
rescue,  and  apprehend  the  sharp  little  villains.  Do  not 
laugh  at  this.  Years  ago  he  lost  his  choicest  friend  by 
the  stab  of  just  such  a  little  dastard  lying  in  ambush. 


103  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

So  also  every  wielder  of  tlie  needle  is  familiar  -witli  the 
propensity  of  the  several  parts  of  a  garment  in  the  pro- 
cess of  manufacture  to  turn  themselves  wrong  side  out, 
and  down  side  up ;  and  the  same  viciousness  cleaves 
like  leprosy  to  the  completed  garment  so  long  as  a  thread 
remains. 

My  blood  still  tingles  with  a  horrible  memory  illustra- 
tive of  this  truth. 

Dressing  hurriedly  and  in  darkness  for  a  concert  one 
evening,  I  appealed  to  the  Dominie,  as  we  passed  under 
the  hall-lamp,  for  a  toilet  inspection. 

"  How  do  I  look,  father  ? " 

After  a  sweeping  glance  came  the  candid  statement,  — • 

"Beau-tifully!" 

O,  the  blessed  glamour  which  invests  a  child  whose 
father  views  her  "  with  a  critic's  eye  " ! 

"  Yes,  of  course ;  but  look  carefully,  please ;  how  is 
my  dress  ?  " 

Another  examination  of  apparently  severest  scrutiny. 

"  All  right,  dear !  That 's  the  new  cloak,  is  it  ?  Never 
saw  you  look  better.     Come,  we  shall  be  late." 

Confidingly  I  went  to  the  hall ;  confidingly  I  entered ; 
since  the  concert-room  was  crowded  with  rapt  listeners 
to  the  Kfth  Symphony,  I,  gingerly,  but  still  confidingly, 
followed  the  author  of  my  days,  and  the  critic  of  my 
toilet,  to  the  very  uppermost  seat,  which  I  entered,  bare- 
ly  nodding  to  my  finically  fastidious  friend,  Guy  Living- 
ston, who  was  seated  near  us  with  a  styjish-lookuig 
stranger,  who  bent  eyebrows  and  glass  upon  me  super- 
ciliously. 

Seated,  the  Dominie  was  at  once  lifted  into  the  midst 


TOTAL  DEPRAVITY  OF  INAJSflMATE  THINGS.    103 

of  the  massive  harmonies  of  the  Adagio  ;  I  lingered  out- 
side a  moment,  in  order  to  settle  my  garments  and  — 
that  woman's  look.  What !  was  that  a  partially  sup- 
pressed titter  near  me  ?  All !  she  has  no  soul  for  music  ! 
How  such  iU-timed  merriment  will  jar  upon  my  friend's 
exquisite  sensibilities  ! 

Shade  of  Beethoven !  A  hybrid  cough  and  laugh, 
smothered  decorously,  but  still  recognizable,  from '  the 
courtly  Guy  himself!     Wliat  can  it  mean? 

In.  my  perturbation,  my  eyes  fell  and  rested  upon  the 
sack,  whose  newiiess  and  glorifymg  effect  had  been 
already  noticed  by  my  lynx-eyed  parent. 

I  here  pause  to  remark  that  I  had  intended  to  request 
the  compositor  to  "  set  up  "  the  coming  sentence  in  ex- 
plosive capitals,  by  way  of  emphasis,  but  forbear,  real- 
izhig  that  it  already  staggers  under  the  weight  of  its 
own  significance. 

That  sack  was  wrong  side  out ! 

Stern  necessity,  proverbially  known  as  "  the  mother 
of  invention,"  and  practically  the  step-mother  of  minis- 
ters' daughters,  had  made  me  eke  out  the  silken  facings 
of  the  front  with  cambric  Imings  for  the  back  and  sleeves. 
Accordingly,  m  the  full  blaze  of  the  concert-room,  there 
sat  I,  "accoutred  as  I  was,"  in  motley  attire,  —  my 
homely  little  economies  patent  to  admiring  spectators : 
on  either  shoulder,  budding  wings  composed  of  unequal 
parts  of  sarcenet-cambric  and  cotton-batting ;  and  in  my 
\ievLx\— parricide,  I  had  almost  said,  but  it  was  ratlicr 
the  more  fihal  sentiment  of  desire  to  operate  for  cataract 
upon  my  father's  eyes.  But  a  moment's  reflection  suf- 
ficed to  transfer  my  mdignation  to  its  proper  object,  — • 


104  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

the  sinful  sack  itself,  wliich,  concerting  with  its  kindred 
darkness,  had  planned  this  cruel  assault  upon  my  inno- 
cent pride. 

A  constitutional  obtuseness  renders  me  delightfully 
insensible  to  one  fruitful  source  of  provocation  among 
inanimate  things.  I  am  so  dull  as  to  regard  all  distinc- 
tions between  "rights"  and  "lefts"  as  invidious;  but 
I  have  witnessed  the  agonized  struggles  of  many  a  vic- 
tim of  fractious  boots,  and  been  thankful  that  "I  am 
not  as  other  men  are,"  in  abihty  to  comprehend  the 
difference  between  my  right  and  left  foot.  Still,  as 
already  intimated,  I  have  seen  wise  men  driven  mad  by 
a  thing  of  leather  and  waxed-ends. 

A  little  innocent  of  three  years,  in  all  the  pride  of  his 
first  boots,  was  aggravated,  by  the  perversity  of  the 
right  to  thrust  itself  on  to  the  left  leg,  to  the  utterance 
of  a  contraband  expletive. 

When  reproved  by  his  horror-stricken  mamma,  he 
maintained  a  dogged  silence. 

In  order  to  pierce  his  apparently  mdurated  conscience, 
his  censor  finally  said,  solemnly,  — 

"  Dugald !  God  knows  that  you  said  that  wicked 
word." 

"Does  he  ?  "  cried  the  baby  victim  of  reral  depravity, ' 
in  a  tone  of  relief;  "then  he  knows  it  was  a  doke" 
{Anglice,  joke). 

But,  mind  you,  the  sm-tcmptmg  boot  intended  no 
"doke." 

The  toilet,  with  its  multiform  details  and  complicated 
macliinery,  is  a  demon  whose  surname  is  Legion. 

Time  would  fail  mc  to  speak  of  the  elusiveness  of 


TOTAL  DEPRAVITY  OF  INANIMATE  THINGS.    105 

soap,  the  knottiness  of  strings,  the  transitory  nature 
of  buttons,  the  inclination  of  suspenders  to  twist,  and 
of  hooks  to  forsake  their  lawful  eyes,  and  cleave  only 
unto  the  hairs  of  their  hapless  owner's  head.  (It  occurs 
to  me  as  barely  possible,  that,  in  the  last  case,  the  hooks 
may  be  innocent,  and  the  sinfulness  may  lie  in  capillary 
attraction.) 

And,  O  my  brother  or  sister  in  sorrow,  has  it  never 
befallen  you,  when  bending  all  your  energies  to  the 
miglity  task  of  "  doing  "  your  back -hair,  to  fuid  youi'self 
gazing  inanely  at  the  opaque  back  of  your  brush,  wliile 
the  hand-mirror,  which  had  maliciously  insinuated  itself 
into  your  right  hand  for  this  express  purpose,  came 
down  upon  your  devoted  head  with  a  resonant  whack  ? 

I  have  alluded,  parenthetically,  to  the  possible  guilt 
of  capillary  attraction,  but  I  am  prepared  to  maintain 
against  the  attraction  of  gravitation  tlie  cliarge  of  total 
depravity.  Indeed,  I  should  say  of  it,  as  did  the  worthy 
exliorter  of  the  Dominie's  old  parish  in  regard  to  slavery, 
"  It 's  the  wickedest  thing  in  the  world,  except  sin !  " 

It  was  only  the  other  day  that  I  saw  depicted  upon 
the  young  divine's  countenance,  from  this  cause,  thoughts 
"too  deep  for  tears,"  and,  perchance,  too  earthy  for 
clerical  utterance. 

From  a  mingling  of  sanitary  and  economic  considera- 
tions, he  had  cleared  his  own  sidewalk  after  a  heavy 
snow-storm.  As  he  stood,  leaning  upon  his  shove], 
surveying  with  smiling  complacency  his  accomplished 
task,  the  spite  of  the  arch-fiend  Gravitation  was  raised 
against  him,  and,  finding  the  impish  slates  (hadn't 
Luther  something  to  say  about  "e^s  many  devils  as 
5* 


106  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

tiles "  ?)  ready  to  co-operate,  an  avalauclie  was  the  re- 
sult, making  the  last  state  of  that  sidewalk  worse  than 
the  first,  and  sending  the  divine  into  the  house  with  a 
battered  hat,  and  an  article  of  faith  supplementary  to 
the  orthodox  thirty-nine. 

Prolonged  reflection  upon  a  certain  class  of  grievances 
has  convuiced  me  that  mankind  has  generally  ascribed 
them  to  a  guiltless  source.  I  refer  to  the  unspeakable 
aggravation  of  "  typographical  errors,"  rightly  so  called, 
- — for,  in  nine  cases  out  of  ten,  I  opine  it  is  the  types 
themselves  which  err. 

I  appeal  to  fellow-sufferers,  if  the  substitutions  and 
interpolations  and  false  combinations  of  letters  are  not 
often  altogether  too  absurd  for  humanity. 

Take,  as  one  instance,  the  experience  of  a  friend,  who, 
in  writing  in  all  innocency  of  a  session  of  the  Histori- 
cal Society,  affirmed  mildly  in  manuscript,  "All  went 
smoothly,"  but  weeks  after  was  made  to  declare  in 
blatant  print,  "All  went  snoringly!" 

As  among  men,  so  in  the  alphabet,  one  sinner  de- 
stroyeth  much  good. 

The  genial  Senator  from  the  Granite  HiUs  told  me 
of  an  early  aspiration  of  his  own  for  literary  distinction, 
which  was  beheaded  remorselessly  by  a  viUaui  of  this 
type.  By  way  of  majestic  peroration  to  a  pathetic 
article,  he  had  exclaimed,  "For  what  would  we  ex- 
change the  fame  of  Washington?"- — referring,  I  scarce- 
ly need  say,  to  the  man  of  fragrant  memory,  and  not 
to  the  odorous  capital.  The  black-hearted  little  dies, 
left  to  their  own  devices  one  night,  struck  dismay  to 
the  heart   of  the   aspirant   author  by  propomiding  in 


TOTAL  DEPRAVITY  OF  INANIMATE  THINGS.    107 

black  and  white  a  prosaic  inquiry  as  to  what  would  be 
considered  a  fair  equivalent  for  the  farm  of  the  father 
of  his  country ! 

Among  frequent  instances  of  this  depravity  in  my  own 
experience,  a  flagrant  example  still  shows  its  ugly  front 
on  a  page  of  a  child's  book.  In  the  latest  edition  of 
"  Our  Little  Girls "  (good  Mr.  Randolph,  pray  read, 
mark,  learn,  and  inwardly  digest)  occurs  a  description 
of  a  christening,  wherein  a  venerable  divine  is  made  to 
dip  "his  head"  into  the  consecrating  water,  and  lay  it 
upon  the  child. 

Disembodied  words  are  also  sinners  and  the  occasions 
of  sin.  Who  has  not  broken  the  Commandments  in 
consequence  of  the  provocation  of  some  miserable  little 
monosyllable  eluding  his  grasp  in  the  moment  of  his 
direst  need,  or  of  some  impertinent  intei'loper  thrustmg 
itself  in,  to  the  utter  demoralization  of  his  well-organized 
sentences  ?  Who  has  not  been  covered  with  shame  at 
tripping  over  the  pronunciation  of  some  perfectly  simple 
word  like  "statistics,"  "inalienable,"  "inextricable," 
etc.,  etc.,  etc.  ? 

Whose  experience  will  not  empower  hini  to  sympa- 
thize with  that  unfortunate  invalid,  who,  on  behig  in- 
terrogated by  a  pious  visitor  in  regard  to  her  enjoyment 
of  means  of  grace,  informed  the  horror-stricken  inquis- 
itor, "I  have  not  been  to  cliurch  for  years,  I  have 
been  such  an  infidel'";  and  then,  moved  by  a  dim  im- 
pression of  wi'ong  somewhere,  as  well  as  by  the  evident 
shock  inflicted  upon  her  worthy  visitor,  but  conscious 
of  her  own  integrity,  repeated  still  more  emphatically, 
"  No ;  I  have  been  a  confirmed  infidel  for  years  "  ? 


108  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

But  a  peremptory  summons  from  an  animated  nursery 
forbids  my  lingering  longer  iu  this  fruitful  field.  I  can 
only  add  an  instance  of  corroborating  testimony  from 
each  member  of  tbe  circle  origiuating  this  essay. 

The  Domiuie  loq.  — "  Sha'  n't  have  anything  to  do 
with  it !  It 's  a  wicked  thing !  To  be  sure,  I  do  re- 
member, when  I  was  a  little  boy,  I  used  to  throw  stones 
at  the  chip-basket  when  it  upset  the  cargo  I  had  just 
laded,  and  it  was  a  great  relief  to  my  feelings  too.  Be- 
sides, you  've  told  stories  about  me  which  were  anything 
but  true.     I  don't  remember  anything  about  that  sack." 

Lady  visitor  loq.  —  "The  first  time  I  was  invited  to 

Mr. 's  (the  Hon. 's,  you  know),  I  was 

somewhat  anxious,  but  went  home  flattering  myself  I 
had  made  a  creditable  impression.  Imagine  my  conster- 
nation, when  I  came  to  relieve  the  pocket  of  my  gala- 
gown,  donned  for  the  occasion,  at  discovering  among  its 
treasures  a  tea-napkin,  mai'ked  gorgeously  witli  the  Hon. 

's  family  crest,  which  had  maliciously  crept 

into  its  depths  in  order  to  bring  me  into  disgrace!  I 
have  never  been  able  to  bring  myself  to  the  point  of 
confession,  in  spite  of  my  subsequent  intimacy  with  the 
family.  If  it  were  not  for  Joseph's  positive  assertion 
to  the  contrary,  I  should  be  of  the  opinion  that  his  cup 
of  divination  conjured  itself  deliberately  and  siufully  into 
innocent  Benjamin's  sack." 

Student  loq.  (Testimony  open  to  criticism.)  —  "  Met 
pretty  girl  on  the  street  yesterday.  Sure  I  had  on  my 
*  Armstrong '  hat  when  I  left  liome,  —  sure,  as  fate ;  but 
wlicu  I  went  to  pull  it  off,  —  by  the  crown,  of  course,  — 
to  bow  to  pretty  girl,  I  smashed  in  my  beaver!     How 


TOTAL  DEPRAVITY  OF  INANIMATE  THINGS.    109 

it  got  there,  don't  know.  Kuocked  it  off.  Pretty  girl 
picked  it  up  aud  bauded  it  to  me.  Couibmided  things, 
any  way !  " 

Young  divine  loq.  — ■  "  Wlule  I  was  in  the  anny,  I  was 
ia  Washington  on  '  leave '  for  two  or  three  days.  One 
night,  at  a  party,  1  became  utterly  bewildered  in  an 
attempt  to  converse,  after  long  desuetude,  with  a  fas- 
cinating woman.  I  went  stumbling  on,  amazing  her 
more  and  more,  until  finally  I  covered  myself  with  glory 
by  the  categorical  statement  that  in  my  opinion  General 
McCleUau  could  '  never  get  across  the  Peninsula  without 
difattle  ;  I  beg  pardon,  madam  !  what  I  mean  to  say  is, 
without  &  biff /it  y 

School-girl  loq.  —  "  When  Uncle was  President, 

I  was  at  the  White  House  at  a  state-dinner  one  evening. 

Senator  came  rushing  in  frantically  after  we  had 

been  at  table  some  time.  No  sooner  was  he  seated 
than  he  turned  to  Aunt  to  apologize  for  liis  delay ;  aud, 
being  very  much  heated,  and  very  much  embarrassed, 
he  tugged  away  desperately  at  his  pocket,  and  finally 
succeeded  iu  extracting  a  huge  blue  stocking,  evidently 
of  home-manufacture,  with  which  he  proceeded  to  wipe 
his  forehead  very  energetically  and  very  conspicuously. 
I  suppose  the  truth  was,  that  the  poor  man's  handker- 
chiefs were  'on  a  strike,'  and  thrust  forward  this  home- 
spun stocking  to  brmg  him  to  terms." 

School-girl,  No.  2,  loq.  —  "  My  last  term  at  P.,  I  was 
expecting  a  box  of  '  goodies '  from  home.  So  when  the 
message  came,  '  An  express-package  for  you,  Miss  Pan- 
ay !'  I  invited  all  my  specials  to  come  and  assist  at  the 
opening.     Listead  of  the  expected  box,  appeared  a  mia- 


110  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

skapen  bundle,  done  up  in  yellow  wrapping-paper.  Pour 
sucli  dejected-looking  damsels  were  never  seen  before 
as  we,  standing  around  the  ugly  old  tiling.  Finally, 
Alice  suggested,  — 

"  '  Open  it ! ' 

" '  O,  I  know  what  it  is,'  I  said ;  '  it  is  my  old  tliibet, 
that  mother  has  had  made  over  for  me.' 

"  '  Let 's  see,'  persisted  Alice. 

"  So  I  opened  the  package.  The  first  thing  I  drew 
out  was  too  much  for  me. 

"  '  What  a  funny -looking  basque  ! '  exclaimed  Ahce. 
All  the  rest  were  struck  dumb  with  disappointment. 

"  No !  not  a  basque  at  all,  but  a  man's  black  satin 
waistcoat !  and  next  came  objects  about  which  there 
could  be  no  doubt,  —  a  pair  of  dingy  old  trousers,  and 
a  swallow-tailed  coat !     Imagme  the  chorus  of  damsels ! 

"The  secret  was,  that  two  packages  lay  in  father's 
office,  —  one  for  me,  the  other  for  those  everlasting 
freedmen.  John  was  to  forward  mine.  He  had  taken 
up  the  box  to  write  my  address  on  it,  when  the  yellow 
bundle  tumbled  off  the  desk  at  his  feet  and  scared  the 
wits  out  of  his  head.  So  I  came  in  for  father's  second- 
hand clothes,  and  the  Ethiopians  had  the  '  goodies ' !  " 

Repentant  Dominie  loq.  —  "I  don't  approve  of  it  at 
all;  but  then,  if  you  must  write  the  wicked  thing,  I 
heard  a  good  story  for  you  to-day.  Dr.  - —  found 
himself  in  the  pulpit  of  a  Dutch  Reformed  Church  the 
other  Sunday.  You  know  he  is  one  who  prides  himseK 
on  his  adaptation  to  places  and  times.  Just  at  the  close 
of  the  introductory  services,  a  black  gown  lying  over 
the  arm  of  the  sofa  caught  his  eye.     He  was  rising  to 


TOTAL  DEPRAVITY  OF  INANIMATE  THINGS.    Ill 

deliver  his  sermon,  when  it  forced  itself  on  liis  attention 
again. 

"'Sure  enough,'  thought  he,  'Dutch  Eefoniied  cler- 
gymen do  wear  gowns.     I  might  as  well  put  it  on.' 

"  So  he  solemnly  thrust  himself  into  the  malicious 
(as  you  would  say)  garment,  and  went  through  the  ser- 
vices as  well  as  he  could,  considermg  that  liis  audience 
seemed  singularly  agitated,  and  indeed  on  the  point  of 
bursting  out  into  a  general  laugh,  throughout  the  entire 
service.  And  no  wonder !  The  good  Doctor,  in  his 
zeal  for  conformity,  had  attired  himself  in  tlie  black 
cambric  duster  in  which  the  pulpit  was  shrouded  dur- 
ing week-days,  and  had  been  gesticulating  his  eloquent 
homily  with  his  arms  thrust  through  the  holes  left  for 
the  pulpit-lamps ! " 


THE    SKELETON   IN   THE   CLOSET. 

BY  J.  THOMAS  DARRAGH  (late  C.   C.  S.). 


WAS  ill  tlie  Civil  Service  at  Riclimond.  Why 
I  was  there,  or  what  I  did,  is  nobody's  affair. 
And  I  do  not  in  this  paper  propose  to  tell  how 
it  happened  that  I  was  in  New  York  in  October,  1864, 
on  confidential  business.  Enough  that  I  was  there,  and 
that  it  was  honest  business.  That  business  done,  as  fax 
as  it  could  be  with  the  resources  uitrusted  to  me,  I  pre- 
pared to  return  home.  And  thereby  hangs  this  tale,  and. 
as  it  proved,  the  fate  of  the  Confederacy. 

Por,  of  course,  I  wanted  to  take  presents  liome  to  mj 
family.  Very  little  question  was  there  what  these  presents 
should  be,  —  for  I  had  no  boys  nor  brothers.  The  women 
of  the  Confederacy  had  one  want,  wliich  overtopped  all 
others.  They  could  make  coffee  out  of  beans  ;  pins  they 
had  from  Columbus ;  straw  hats  they  braided  quite  well 
with  their  own  fair  hands  ;  snuff  we  could  get  better  than 
you  could  in  "  tlie  old  concern."  But  we  had  no  hoop- 
skirts,  —  skeletons,  we  used  to  call  them.  No  ingenuity 
had  made  them.  No  bounties  had  forced  them.  The 
Bat,  the  Greyhound,   the  Deer,  the  Flora,   the  J.   C. 


THE    SKELETON    IN    THE    CLOSET.  113 

Cobb,  the  Vanina,  and  the  Fore-and-Aft  all  took  in 
cargoes  of  them  for  us  in  England.  But  the  Bat  and  the 
Deer  and  the  Flora  were  seized  by  the  blockaders,  the  J. 
C.  Cobb  sunk  at  sea,  tlie  Fore-and-Aft  and  the  Greyhound 
were  set  fire  to  by  their  own  crews,  and  the  Varuna  (our 
Varuua)  was  never  heard  of.  Then  the  State  of  Arkansas 
offered  sixteen  townships  of  swamp  laud  to  the  first 
manufactui-er  who  would  exhibit  five  gross  of  a  home- 
manufactured  article.  But  no  one  ever  competed.  The 
first  attempts,  indeed,  were  put  to  an  end,  when  Schofield 
crossed  the  Blue  Lick,  and  destroyed  the  dams  on  Yellow 
Branch.  The  consequence  was,  that  people's  crinoline 
collapsed  faster  than  the  Confederacy  did,  of  wliicli  that 
brute  of  a  Grierson  said  there  was  never  anything  of  it 
but  the  outside. 

Of  course,  then,  I  put  in  the  bottom  of  my  new  large 
trunk  in  New  York,  not  a  "duplex  elliptic,"  for  none 
were  then  made,  but  a  "  Belmonte,"  of  thirty  springs, 
for  my  wife.  I  bought,  for  her  more  common  wear,  a 
good  "  Belle-Fontaine."  For  Sarah  and  Susy  each,  I 
got  two  "  Dumb-Belles."  For  Aunt  Eunice  and  Auut 
Clara,  maiden  sisters  of  my  wife,  who  lived  with  us  after 
Winchester  fell  the  fourth  time,  I  got  the  "  Scotch  Hare- 
bell," two  of  each.  For  my  own  mother  I  got  one 
"  Belle  of  the  Prairies  "  and  one  "  Invisible  Combination 
Gossamer."  I  did  not  forget  good  old  Mamma  Chloe 
and  Mamma  Jane.  For  them  I  got  substantial  cages, 
without  names.  With  these,  tied  in  the  shapes  of  figure 
eights  in  the  bottom  of  my  trunk,  as  I  said,  I  put  in  an 
assorted  cargo  of  dry-goods  above,  and,  favored  by  a 
pass,  and  Major  Mulford's  courtesy  on  the  flag-of-truco 


114  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

boat,  I  arrived  safely  at  Ricbmoud  before  the  autuirm 
closed. 

I  was  received  at  home  with  rapture.  But  when,  the 
next  morning,  1  opened  my  stores,  this  became  rapture 
doubly  enraptured.  Words  cannot  tell  the  silent  delight 
with  which  old  and  young,  black  and  white,  surveyed 
these  fairy-hkc  structures,  yet  unbroken  and  unmended. 

Perennial  summer  reigned  that  autumn  day  in  that 
reunited  family.  It  reigned  the  next  day,  and  the  next. 
It  would  have  reigned  till  now  if  the  Belmontcs  and  the 
other  things  would  last  as  long  as  the  advertisements 
declare  ;  and,  what  is  more,  the  Confederacy  would  have 
reigned  till  now.  President  Davis  and  General  Lee  !  but 
for  that  great  misery,  which  all  families  understand, 
which  culminated  in  our  great  misfortune. 

I  was  up  in  the  cedar  closet  one  day,  looking  for  an 
old  parade  cap  of  mine,  which  I  thought,  though  it  was 
my  third  best,  might  look  better  than  my  second  best, 
which  I  had  worn  ever  since  my  best  was  lost  at  the 
Seven  Pines.  I  say  I  was  standing  on  the  lower  shelf 
of  the  cedar  closet,  when,  as  I  stepped  along  in  the 
darkness,  my  right  foot  caught  in  a  bit  of  wire,  my  left 
did  not  give  way  m  time,  and  I  fell,  with  a  small  wooden 
hat-box  in  my  hand,  full  on  the  floor.  The  corner  of  the 
hat-box  struck  me  just  below  the  second  frontal  sinus, 
and  I  fainted  away. 

When  I  came  to  myself  I  was  iu  the  blue  chamber ; 
1  had  vinegar  on  a  brown  paper  on  my  forehead ;  the 
room  was  dark,  and  I  found  mother  sitting  by  me,  glad 
enough  indeed  to  hear  my  voice,  and  to  know  that  I 
knew  her.     It  was  some  time  before  I  fully  understood 


THE  SKELETON  IN  THE  CLOSET.     115 

what  had  happened.  Then  slie  brouglit  me  a  cup  of  tea, 
and  I,  quite  refreshed,  said  I  must  go  to  the  office. 

"  Office,  my  chUd!  "  said  she.  "Your  leg  is  broken 
above  the  ankle ;  you  will  not  move  these  six  weeks. 
Wliere  do  you  suppose  you  are  ?  " 

Till  then  I  had  no  notion  that  it  was  five  minutes  suice 
I  went  into  the  closet.  When  she  told  me  the  time,  five 
in  the  afternoon,  I  groaned  ui  the  lowest  depths.  For, 
in  my  breast-pocket  in  that  ianocent  coat,  which  I  could 
now  see  lying  on  the  window-seat,  were  the  duplicate 
despatches  to  Mr.  Mason,  for  which,  late  the  night  before, 
I  had  got  the  Secretary's  signature.  They  were  to  go 
at  ten  that  morning  to  WUmington,  by  the  Navy  Depart- 
ment's special  messenger.  I  had  taken  them  to  insure 
care  and  certainty.  I  had  worked  on  them  till  midnight, 
and  they  had  not  been  signed  till  near  one  o'clock. 
Heavens  and  earth,  and  here  it  was  five  o'clock  !  The 
man  must  be  half-way  to  Wilmington  by  this  time.  I 
sent  the  doctor  for  Lafarge,  my  clerk.  Lafarge  did  liis 
prettiest  in  rushing  to  the  telegraph.  But  no  !  A  freshet 
on  the  Chowan  Uiver,  or  a  raid  by  Foster,  or  something, 
or  nothing,  had  smashed  the  telegraph  wire  for  that  night. 
And  before  that  despatch  ever  reached  Wilmington  the 
navy  agent  was  m  the  offing  in  the  Sea-Maid. 

"But  perhaps  the  duplicate  got  through?"  No, 
breatliless  reader,  the  duplicate  did  not  get  through. 
The  duplicate  was  taken  by  Faucon,  in  the  Ino.  I  saw 
it  last  week  in  Dr.  Lieber's  hands,  in  Washington.  Well, 
aU  I  know  is,  that  if  the  duplicate  had  got  through,  the 
Confederate  government  would  have  had  in  March  a 
chance  at  eighty -three  thousand  two  hundred  and  eleven 


116  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

muskets,  wliicli,  as  it  was,  never  left  Belgium.  So  much 
for  my  treading  into  that  blessed  piece  of  wire  on  the 
shelf  of  the  cedar  closet,  up  stairs. 

"  What  was  the  bit  of  wire  ?  " 

Well,  it  was  not  telegraph  wire.  If  it  had  been,  it 
would  have  broken  when  it  was  not  wanted  to.  Don't 
you  know  what  it  was  ?  Go  up  in  your  own  cedar  closet, 
and  step  about  in  the  dark,  and  see  what  brings  up  round 
your  ankles.  Julia,  poor  child,  cried  her  eyes  out  about 
it.  When  I  got  well  enough  to  sit  up,  and  as  soon  as  I 
could  talk  and  plan  with  her,  she  brought  down  seven  of 
these  old  things,  antiquated  Belmontes  and  Simplex 
EUiptics,  and  horrors  without  a  name,  and  she  made  a 
pile  of  them  in  the  bedroom,  and  asked  me  in  the  most 
penitent  way  what  she  should  do  with  them. 

"You  can't  burn  them,"  said  she  ;  "fire  won't  touch 
them.  If  you  bury  them  in  the  garden,  they  come  up  at 
the  second  raking.  If  you  give  them  to  the  servants, 
they  say,  '  Thank-e,  missus,'  and  throw  them  in  the  back 
passage.  If  you  give  them  to  the  poor,  they  throw  them 
into  the  street  ui  front,  and  do  not  say,  '  Thank-e.'  Sarah 
sent  seventeen  over  to  the  sword  factory,  and  the  foreman 
swore  at  the  boy,  and  told  him  he  would  flog  hun  within 
an  inch  of  his  life  if  he  brought  any  more  of  his  sauce 
there  ;  and  so  —  and  so,"  sobbed  the  poor  child,  "  I  just 
rolled  up  tliese  wretched  things,  and  laid  them  in  the 
cedar  closet,  hoping,  you  know,  that  some  day  the 
government  would  want  something,  and  would  advertise 
for  them.  You  know  what  a  good  thing  I  made  out  of 
the  bottle  corks." 

In  fact,  she  had  sold  our  bottle  corks  for  four  thousand 


THE    SKELETON    IN    THE    CLOSET.  117 

two  huudred  and  sixteen  dollars  of  the  first  issue.  We 
afterward  bought  two  umbrellas  and  a  corkscrew  with 
the  mouey. 

Well,  I  did  not  scold  Julia.  It  was  certainly  no  fault 
of  hers  that  I  was  walking  on  the  lower  shelf  of  her  cedar 
closet.  I  told  her  to  make  a  parcel  of  the  things,  and 
the  first  time  we  went  to  drive  I  hove  the  whole  shapeless 
heap  into  the  river,  without  saying  mass  for  them. 

But  let  no  man  think,  or  no  woman,  that  this  was  the 
end  of  troubles.  As  I  look  back  on  that  winter,  and  on 
the  spring  of  18 G5  (I  do  not  mean  the  steel  spring),  it 
seems  to  me  only  the  beginning.  I  got  out  on  crutches 
at  last ;  I  had  the  office  transferred  to  my  house,  so  that 
Lafarge  and  Hepburn  could  work  there  nights,  and  com- 
municate with  me  when  I  could  not  go  out ;  but  morn- 
ings I  hobbled  up  to  the  Department,  and  sat  with  the 
Chief,  and  took  his  orders.  Ah  me  !  shall  I  soon  forget 
that  damp  winter  morning,  when  we  all  had  such  hope 
at  the  office  ?  One  or  two  of  the  army  fellows  looked  in 
at  the  window  as  they  ran  by,  and  we  knew  that  they 
felt  weU ;  and  though  I  would  not  ask  Old  Wick,  as  we 
had  nicknamed  the  Chief,  what  was  in  the  wuid,  I  knew 
the  time  had  come,  and  that  the  lion  meant  to  break  the 
net  this  time.  I  made  an  excuse  to  go  home  earlier 
than  usual ;  rode  down  to  the  house  in  the  Major's  am- 
bulance, I  remember;  and  hopped  in,  to  surprise  Juha 
with  the  good  news,  only  to  find  that  the  whole  house 
was  in  that  quiet  uproar  which  shows  that  something 
bad  has  happened  of  a  sudden. 

"  What  is  it,  Cliloe  ?  "  said  I,  as  the  old  wench  rushed 
by  me  with  a  bucket  of  water. 


118  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

"  Poor  Mr.  George,  I  'fraid  lie  's  dead,  sat !  " 
And  there  lie  really  was, — dear,  handsome,  bright 
George  Schaif,  —  the  delight  of  all  the  nicest  girls  of 
Richmond;  he  lay  there  ou  Aunt  Eunice's  bed  on  the 
ground-floor,  where  they  had  brought  him  in.  He  was 
not  dead,  —  and  he  did  not  die.  He  is  making  cotton  in 
Texas  now.  But  he  looked  mighty  near  it  then.  "  The 
deep  cut  in  his  head"  was  the  worst  I  then  had  ever 
seen,  and  the  blow  confused  everything.  When  Mc- 
Gregor got  round,  he  said  it  was  not  hopeless ;  but  we 
were  all  turned  out  of  the  room,  and  with  one  thing  and 
another  he  got  the  boy  out  of  the  swoon,  and  somehow 
it  proved  his  head  was  not  broken. 

No,  but  poor  George  swears  to  this  day  it  were  better 
it  had  been,  if  it  could  only  have  been  broken  the  right 
way  and  on  the  right  field.  For  that  evening  we  heard 
that  everything,  had  gone  wrong  in  the  surprise.  There 
we  had  been  waiting  for  one  of  those  early  fogs,  and  at 
last  the  fog  had  come.  And  Jubal  Early  had,  that 
mornuig,  pushed  out  every  man  he  had,  that  could 
stand  ;  and  they  lay  hid  for  three  mortal  hours,  within  I 
don't  know  how  near  the  picket-line  at  Eort  Powhatan, 
only  waiting  for  the  shot  which  John  Streight's  party 
were  to  fire  at  Wilson's  Wharf,  as  soon  as  somebody  on 
our  left  centre  advanced  in  force  on  the  enemy's  line 
above  Turkey  Island  stretching  across  to  Nansemoud. 
I  am  not  in  the  War  Department,  and  I  forget  whether 
he  was  to  advance  en  barbette  or  by  echelon  of  infantry. 
But  he  was  to  advance  somehow,  and  he  knew  how ; 
and  when  he  advanced,  you  see,  that  other  man  lower 
down  was  to  rush  in,  and  as  soon  as  Eai'ly  heard  him  he 


THE  SKELETON  IN  THE  CLOSET.     119 

was  to  surprise  Powhatan,  you  see ;  and  then,  if  you 
have  understood  me.  Grant  and  Butler  and  the  whole  rig 
of  them  would  have  been  cut  oif  from  their  supplies, 
would  have  had  to  fight  a  battle  for  which  they  were  not 
prepared,  with  their  right  made  into  a  new  left,  and  their 
old  left  unexpectedly  advanced  at  au  oblique  angle  from 
their  centre,  and  would  not  that  have  been  the  end  of 
them  ? 

Well,  that  never  happened.  And  the  reason  it  never 
happened  was,  that  poor  George  Schaff,  with  the  last 
fatal  order  for  this  man  Avhose  name  I  forget  (the  same 
who  was  afterward  killed  the  day  before  High  Bridge), 
undertook  to  save  time  by  cutting  across  behind  my 
house,  from  Franklin  to  Green  Streets.  You  know  how 
much  time  he  saved,  —  they  waited  all  day  for  that  order. 
George  told  me  afterwards  that  the  last  thing  he  remem- 
bered was  kissing  his  hand  to  Juha,  who  sat  at  her  bed- 
room window.  He  said  he  thought  she  might  be  the 
last  woman  he  ever  saw  this  side  of  heaven.  Just  after 
that,  it  must  have  been,  his  horse  —  that  white  ]\Ies- 
seugcr  colt  old  Williams  bred  —  went  over  like  a  log, 
and  poor  George  was  pitched  fifteen  feet  head-foremost 
against  a  stake  there  was  in  that  lot.  Julia  saw  the 
whole.  She  rushed  out  with  all  the  women,  and  had  just 
brought  him  in  when  I  got  home.  And  that  was  the 
reason  that  the  great  promised  combmation  of  Decem- 
ber, 18G4,  never  came  off  at  all. 

I  walked  out  in  the  lot,  after  McGregor  turned  me  out 
of  the  chamber,  to  see  what  they  had  done  with  the 
horse.  There  he  lay,  as  dead  as  old  Messenger  himself. 
His  neck  was  broken.     And  do  you  thuik,  I  looked  to 


120  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

see  what  Lad  tripped  liim.  I  supposed  it  was  one  of  the 
boys'  bandy -holes.  It  was  no  suck  thing.  The  poor  wretch 
had  tangled  his  hind  legs  in  one  of  those  infernal  hoop- 
wires  that  Chloe  had  thrown  out  in  the  piece  when  I 
gave  her  her  new  ones.  Though  I  did  not  know  it  then, 
those  fatal  scraps  of  rusty  steel  had  broken  the  neck  tliat 
day  of  Robert  Lee's  army. 

That  time  I  made  a  row  about  it.  I  felt  too  badly  to 
go  into  a  passion.  But  before  the  women  went  to  bed, 
—  they  were  all  in  the  sitting-room  together,  —  I  talked 
to  them  like  a  father.  I  did  not  swear.  I  had  got  over 
that  for  a  while,  in  that  six  weeks  on  my  back.  But  1 
did  say  the  old  wires  were  infernal  things,  and  that  the 
house  and  premises  must  be  made  rid  of  them.  The 
aunts  laughed,  —  though  I  was  so  serious,  —  and  tipped 
a  wink  to  the  girls.  The  girls  wanted  to  laugh,  but 
were  afraid  to.  And  then  it  came  out  that  the  aunts 
had  sold  their  old  hoops,  tied  as  tight  as  they  could  tie 
them,  in  a  great  mass  of  rags.  They  had  made  a  fortune 
by  the  sale,  —  I  am  sorry  to  say  it  was  in  other  rags, 
but  the  rags  they  got  were  new  instead  of  old,  —  it  was 
a  real  Aladdin  bargain.  The  new  rags  had  blue  backs, 
and  were  numbered,  some  as  high  as  fifty  dollars.  The 
rag-man  had  been  in  a  hurry,  and  had  not  known  what 
made  the  things  so  heavy.  I  frowned  at  the  swindle, 
but  they  said  all  was  fair  with  a  pedler,  —  and  I  own  I 
was  glad  the  things  were  well  out  of  Richmond.  But 
when  I  said  I  thought  it  was  a  mean  trick,  Lizzie  and 
Sarah  looked  demure,  and  asked  what  in  the  world  I 
would  have  them  do  with  the  old  things.  Did  I  expect 
them  to  walk  down  to  the  bridge  themselves  with  great 


THE    SKELETON    IN    THE    CLOSET,      ^^ffi  NORMAL  SGH. 

Los  Adgeles,  Ca(. 
parcels  to  throw  into  tlie  river,  as  I  had  done  by  Julia's  ? 

Of  course  it  ended,  as  such   things  always  do,  by  my 

taking  the  work  on  my  own  shoulders.     I  told  them  to 

tie  up  all  they  had  in  as  sniall  a  parcel  as  they  could,  and 

bring  them  to  me. 

Accordingly,  the  next  day,  I  found  a  handsome  brown- 
paper  parcel,  not  so  very  large,  considering,  and  strangely 
square,  considering,  which  the  minxes  had  put  together 
and  left  on  my  office  table.  They  had  a  great  frolic  over 
it.  They  had  not  spared  red  tape  nor  red  wax.  Very 
official  it  looked,  indeed,  and  on  the  left-hand  corner,  in 
Sarah's  boldest  and  most  contorted  hand,  was  written, 
"  Secret  service."  We  had  a  great  laugh  over  their 
success.  And,  indeed,  I  should  have  taken  it  with  me 
the  next  time  I  went  down  to  the  Tredegar,  but  that  I 
happened  to  dine  one  evening  with  young  Norton  of  our 
gallant  little  navy,  and  a  very  curious  thing  he  told  us. 

We  were  talking  about  the  disappointment  of  the  com- 
bined land  attack.  I  did  not  tell  what  upset  poor  Schaff's 
horse  ;  indeed,  I  do  not  think  those  navy  men  knew  the 
details  of  the  disappointment.  O'Brien  had  told  me,  in 
confidouee,  what  I  have  written  down  probably  for  the 
first  time  now.  But  we  were  speaking,  in  a  general  way, 
of  the  disappointment.  Norton  finished  his  cigar  rather 
thoughtfully,  and  then  said,  "  Well,  fellows,  it  is  not 
worth  while  to  put  in  the  newspapers,  but  what  do  you 
suppose  upset  our  graud  naval  attack,  the  day  the  Yankee 
gunboats  skittled  down  the  river  so  handsomely  ?  " 

"  Why,"  said  Allen,  who  is  Norton's  bcst-bcloved 
friend,  "  they  say  that  you  ran  away  from  them  as  fast 
as  they  did  from  you." 

VOL.  V.  6 


123  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

"  Do  tliey  ?  "  said  Norton,  grimly.  "  If  you  say  that, 
I  '11  break  your  head  for  you.  Seriously,  men,"  con- 
tinued he,  "  that  was  a  most  extraordinary  thing.  You 
know  I  was  on  the  ram.  But  why  she  stopped  when  she 
stopped  I  knew  as  httle  as  this  wineglass  does ;  and 
Callender  himself  knew  no  more  than  I.  "We  had  not 
been  hit.  We  were  all  right  as  a  trivet  for  all  we  knew, 
when,  skree  !  she  began  blowing  off  steam,  and  we 
stopped  dead,  and  began  to  drift  down  under  those  bat- 
teries. Callender  had  to  telegraph  to  the  little  Mosquito, 
or  whatever  Walter  called  his  boat,  and  the  spunky  little 
thing  ran  down  and  got  us  out  of  the  scrape.  Walter 
did  it  right  well ;  if  he  had  had  a  monitor  under  him,  he 
could  not  have  done  better.  Of  course  we  all  rushed  to 
the  engine-room.  What  in  thunder  were  they  at  there  ? 
AH  they  knew  was  they  could  get  no  water  into  her 
boiler. 

"  Now,  fellows,  this  is  the  end  of  the  story.  As  soon 
as  the  boilers  cooled  off  they  worked  all  night  on  those 
supply  pumps.  May  I  be  haugcd  if  they  had  not  sucked 
in,  somehow,  a  long  sti'ing  of  yarn,  and  cloth,  and,  if  you 
win  believe  mc,  a  Avire  of  some  woman's  crinoline.  And 
that  Prench  folly  of  a  sham  Empress  cut  short  that  day 
the  victory  of  the  Confederate  navy,  and  old  Davis  him- 
self can't  tell  when  we  shall  have  such  a  chance  again ! " 

Some  of  the  men  thought  Norton  lied.  But  I  never 
was  with  him  when  he  did  not  tell  the  truth.  I  did  not 
mention,  however,  what  I  had  thrown  into  the  water  the 
last  thne  I  had  gone  over  to  Manchester.  And  I  changed 
my  mind  about  Sarah's  "secret-service"  parcel.  It  re- 
mained on  my  table. 


THE  SKELETON  IN  THE  CLOSET.     123 

That  was  the  last  diuuer  our  old  club  had  at  the  Spots- 
wood,  I  believe.  The  sprmg  cauie  on,  and  the  plot 
thickened.  We  did  our  work  in  the  office  as  well  as  we 
could ;  I  can  speak  for  mine,  and  if  other  people  —  But 
no  matter  for  that !  The  3d  of  April  came,  and  the  fire, 
and  the  right  wiiig  of  Grant's  army.  I  remember  I  was 
glad  then  that  I  had  moved  the  office  down  to  the  house, 
for  we  were  out  of  the  way  there.  Everybody  had  run 
away  from  the  Department;  and  so,  when  the  powers 
that  be  took  possession,  my  little  sub-bureau  was  unmo- 
lested for  some  days.  I  improved  those  days  as  well  as 
I  could,  —  burning  carefully  what  was  to  be  burned,  and 
hiding  carefully  what  was  to  be  hidden.  One  thing  that 
happened  then  belongs  to  this  story.  As  I  was  at  work 
on  the  private  bureau,  —  it  was  really  a  bureau,  as  it 
happened,  one  I  had  made  Aunt  Eunice  give  up  when  I 
broke  my  leg,  —  I  came,  to  my  horror,  on  a  neat  parcel 
of  coast-survey  maps  of  Georgia,  Alabama,  and  Elorida. 
They  were  not  the  same  Maury  stole  when  he  left  the 
National  Observatory,  but  they  were  like  them.  Now,  I 
was  perfectly  sure  that  on  that  fatal  Sunday  of  the  flight 
I  had  sent  Lafarge  for  these,  that  the  President  might 
use  them,  if  necessary,  in  his  escape.  Wlien  I  found 
them,  I  hopped  out  and  called  for  Julia,  and  asked  her 
if  she  did  not  remember  his  coming  for  them.  "Cer- 
tainly," she  said,  "  it  was  the  first  I  knew  of  the  danger. 
Lafarge  came,  asked  for  the  key  of  the  office,  told  me 
all  was  up,  walked  in,  and  in  a  moment  was  gone." 

And  here,  on  the  file  of  April  3d,  was  Lafarge's  line  to 
me :  — 

"I  got  the  secret-service  parcel  myself,  and  have  put 


124  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

it  in  the  President's  own  hands.  I  marked  it  'Gulf 
coast,'  as  you  bade  me." 

What  could  Lafarge  have  given  to  the  President  ? 
Not  the  soundings  of  Hatteras  Bar.  Not  the  working- 
drawings  of  the  first  monitor.  I  had  all  these  under  my 
hand.  Could  it  be  —  "  Jidia,  what  did  we  do  with  that 
stuif  of  Sarah's  that  she  marked  secret  sercice?" 

As  I  live,  we  had  sent  the  girls'  old  hoops  to  the 
President  in  his  flight. 

And  when  the  next  day  we  read  how  he  used  them, 
and  how  Pritchard  arrested  him,  we  thought  if  he  had 
only  had  the  right  parcel  he  would  have  found  the  way 
to  Florida. 

That  is  really  the  end  of  this  memoir.  But  I  should 
not  have  written  it,  but  for  something  that  happened 
just  now  on  the  piazza.  You  must  know,  some  of  us 
wrecks  are  up  here  at  the  Berkeley  baths.  My  uncle 
has  a  place  near  here.  Here  came  to-day  John  Sisson, 
whom  I  have  not  seen  since  Memminger  ran  and  took 
the  clerks  with  him.  Here  we  had  before,  both  the 
Richards  brothers,  the  great  paper  men,  you  know,  who 
started  the  Edgerly  Works  in  Prince  George's  County, 
just  after  the  war  began.  After  dinner,  Sisson  and  they 
met  on  the  piazza.  Queerly  enough,  they  had  never 
seen  each  other  before,  though  they  had  used  reams 
of  Richards's  paper  in  correspondence  with  each  other, 
and  the  treasury  had  used  tons  of  it  in  the  printing  of 
bonds  and  bank-bills.  Of  course  we  all  fell  to  talking 
of  old  times,  —  old  they  seem  now,  though  it  is  not  a 
year  ago.  "Richards,"  said  Sisson  at  last,  "what  be- 
came of  that  last  order  of  ours  for  water-lmed,  pure  linen 


THE    SKELETON    IN   THE    CLOSET.  125 

goverameut-callendei'ed  paper  of  suretS?  We  never  got 
it,  and  I  never  knew  why." 

"  Did  you  think  Kilpatrick  got  it  ? "  said  Richards. 

"  None  of  your  chaff,  Richards.  Just  tell  where  the 
piper  went,  for  in  the  loss  of  that  lot  of  paper,  as  it 
proved,  the  bottom  dropped  out  of  the  treasury  tub. 
On  that  paper  was  to  have  been  printed  our  new  issue 
of  ten  per  cent,  convertible,  you  know,  and  secured 
on  that  up-country  cotton,  which  Kirby  Smith  had  above 
the  Big  Raft.  I  had  the  printers  ready  for  near  a  month 
waiting  for  that  paper.  The  plates  were  really  very 
handsome.  I  '11  show  you  a  proof  when  we  go  up  stairs. 
Wholly  new  they  were,  made  by  some  Frenchmen  we 
got,  who  had  worked  for  the  Bank  of  Prance.  I  was 
so  anxious  to  have  the  thing  well  done,  that  I  waited 
three  weeks  for  that  paper,  and,  by  Jove,  I  waited  just 
too  long.  We  never  got  one  of  the  bonds  off,  and  that 
was  why  we  had  no  money  in  March." 

Richards  threw  his  cigar  away.  I  will  not  say  he 
swore  between  his  teeth,  but  he  twirled  his  chair  round, 
brought  it  do\vn  on  all  fours,  both  his  elbows  on  his 
knees  and  his  chin  in  both  hands. 

"  Mr.  Sisson,"  said  he,  "  if  the  Confederacy  had  lived, 
I  would  have  died  before  I  ever  told  what  became  of 
that  order  of  yours.  But  now  I  have  no  secrets,  I  be- 
lieve, and  I  care  for  nothing.  I  do  not  know  now  how 
it  happened.  We  knew  it  was  an  extra-nice  job.  And 
we  had  it  on  an  elegant  little  new  Trench  Fourdrinier, 
which  cost  us  more  than  we  shall  ever  pay.  Tlic  pretty 
thing  ran  like  oil  the  day  before.  That  day,  I  thought 
all  the  devils  were  in  it.     The  more  power  we  put  on 


126  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

the  more  the  rollers  screamed ;  and  the  less  we  put  on, 
the  more  sulkily  the  jade  stopped.  I  tried  it  myself 
every  way;  back  current,  I  tried;  forward  current; 
high  feed ;  low  feed ;  I  tried  it  on  old  stock,  I  tried  it 
on  new;  and,  Mr.  Sisson,  I  would  have  made  better 
paper  in  a  coffee-mill !  We  draiaed  off  every  drop  of 
water.  We  Avashed  the  tubs  free  from  size.  Then  my 
brother  there  worked  all  night  with  the  machiuists,  tak- 
ing down  the  frame  and  the  rollers.  You  would  not  be- 
lieve it,  sir,  but  that  Kttle  bit  of  wire,"  —  and  he  took 
out  of  his  pocket  a  piece  of  this  hateful  steel,  which 
poor  I  knew  so  well  by  this  time,  ■ —  "  that  little  bit  of 
wire  had  passed  ui  from  some  hoop-skirt,  passed  the 
pickers,  passed  the  screens,  through  all  the  troughs, 
up  and  down  through  what  we  call  the  lacerators,  and 
had  got  itself  wrought  in,  where,  if  you  know  a  Fourdri- 
nier  machine,  you  may  have  noticed  a  brass  rmg  riveted 
to  the  cross-bar,  and  there  this  cursed  little  knife  —  for 
you  see  it  was  a  knife,  by  that  time  —  had  been  cutting 
to  pieces  the  endless  wire  web  every  time  the  machine 
was  started.  You  lost  your  bonds,  Mr.  Sisson,  because 
some  Yankee  woman  cheated  one  of  my  rag-men." 

On  that  story  I  came  up  stairs.  Poor  Aunt  Eunice  ! 
She  was  the  reason  I  got  no  salary  on  the  1st  of  April. 
I  thought  I  would  warn  other  women  by  writing  down 
the  story. 

That  fatal  present  of  mine,  m  those  harmless  hour- 
glass parcels,  was  the  ruin  of  the  Confederate  navy, 
army,  ordnance,  and  treasury ;  and  it  led  to  the  capture 
of  the  poor  President  too.  But,  Heaven  be  praised,  no 
one  shall  say  that  ray  office  did  not  do  its  duty  ! 


SANDY   WOOD'S    SEPULCHRE. 


BY  HUGH  MILLER. 


HE  ruins  of  the  old.  chapel  of  St.  Regulus,  iu 
Cromarty,  occupy  the  edge  of  a  narrow,  pro- 
jecting angle  in  which  the  burying-ground  ter- 
minates toward  the  east.  The  old  enclosure  of  the  bury- 
ing-ground, wliich  seems  originally  to  have  been  an 
earthen  wall,  has  now  sunk  into  a  grassy  mound,  and 
on  the  southern  and  western  sides  some  of  the  largest 
trees  of  the  fence  —  a  fine,  stately  ash,  fluted  like  a 
Grecian  column,  a  huge  elm,  roughened  over  with  im- 
mense wens,  and  a  low,  bushy  larch  with  a  bent,  twisted 
trunk  and  weeping  branches  —  spring  directly  out  of  it. 
At  one  place  we  see  a  flat  tombstone,  lying  a  few  yards 
outside  the  mound.  The  trees  which  shoot  up  on  every 
side  fling  so  deep  a  gloom  over  it  during  the  summer 
and  autumn  months,  that  we  can  scarcely  decipher  the 
epitaph,  and  in  winter  it  is  not  unfrequeutly  buried 
under  a  wreath  of  withei'ed  leaves.  By  dint  of  some 
little  pains,  however,  we  come  to  learn  from  the  dark- 
ened and  half-dilapidated  inscription,  that  the  tenant 
below,  one  Alexander  Wood,  a  native  of  Cromarty,  died 


128  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

in  the  year  1690 ;  and  that  he  was  interred  in  this  place 
at  Ids  own  especial  desire.  His  wife  and  some  of  his 
children  have  taken  up  their  places  beside  him ;  thus 
lyiag  apart  like  a  family  of  hermits ;  while  his  story  — 
which,  almost  too  wild  for  tradition  itself,  is  yet  as  au- 
thentic as  most  pieces  of  written  history  —  affords  a 
curious  explanation  of  the  circumstance  which  directed 
their  choice. 

Wood  was  a  man  of  strong  passions,  sparingly  gifted 
with  common-sense,  and  exceedingly  superstitious.  No 
one  could  be  kinder  to  his  friends  or  relatives,  or  more 
hospitable  to  a  stranger ;  but  when  once  offended,  he  was 
implacable.  He  had  but  httle  in  his  power  as  either  a 
friend  or  an  enemy ;  his  course  through  the  world  lying 
barely  beyond  the  bleak  edge  of  poverty.  If  a  neiglibor, 
however,  dropped  in  by  accident  at  meal-time,  he  would 
not  be  suffered  to  quit  the  house  until  he  liad  shared 
with  the  family  their  simple  fare.  There  was  benevo- 
lence in  the  very  grasp  of  his  hand  and  tlie  twinkle  of 
his  eye  and  the  httle  set  speech,  stiU  preserved  by  tradi- 
tion, in  which  he  used  to  address  his  w\k  every  time  an 
old  or  mutilated  beggar  came  to  the  door.  "  Alms,  gude- 
wife,"  he  would  say,  —  "ahns  to  the  crippled  and  the 
blm'  and  the  broken-dovrn."  Wlicn  uijured  or  insulted, 
however,  —  and  certainly  no  one  could  do  either  witliout 
being  very  mucli  in  the  wrong,  —  tlicrc  was  a  toad-like 
maUguity  in  his  nature,  that  would  come  leaping  out  like 
the  reptile  from  its  hole,  and  no  power  on  earth  could 
shut  it  up  again.  He  would  sit  hatching  his  venom  for 
days  and  weeks  together  with  a  slow,  tedious,  inopera- 
tive kind  of  perseverance  that  achieved  nothing.     He 


SANDY   wood's    SEPULCHRE.  129 

was  full  of  anecdote ;  and,  in  all  his  stories,  human 
nature  was  exhibited  in  only  its  brightest  hghts  and  its 
deepest  shadows,  without  the  slightest  mixture  of  that 
medium  tint  which  gives  color  to  its  working,  every-day 
suit.  Whatever  was  bad  in  the  better  class  he  trans- 
ferred to  the  worse,  and  vice  versa  ;  and  thus  not  even 
his  narratives  of  the  supernatural  were  less  true  to 
nature  and  fact  than  his  narratives  of  mere  men  and 
women.  And  he  dealt  with  the  two  classes  of  stories 
after  the  same  fashion,  leudmg  the  same  firm  belief  to 
both  alike. 

In  the  house  adjoining  the  one  in  which  he  resided, 
lived  a  stout  little  man,  a  shoemaker,  famous  in  the  vil- 
lage for  his  great  wit  and  his  very  considerable  knavery. 
His  jokes  were  mostly  practical,  and  some  of  the  best 
of  them  exceedingly  akin  to  felonies.  Poor  Wood  could 
not  understand  his  wit;  but,  in  his  simplicity  of  heart, 
he  deemed  him  honest,  and  would  fain  have  prevailed  on 
the  neighbors  to  think  so  too.  He  knew  it,  he  said,  by 
his  very  look. 

Their  gardens,  like  their  houses,  lay  contiguous,  and 
were  separated  from  each  other,  not  by  a  fence,  but  by 
four  undressed  stones  laid  in  a  Ime.  Year  after  year 
was  the  garden  of  Wood  becoming  less  productive  ;  and 
he  had  a  strange  misgiving,  but  the  thing  was  too  absurd 
to  be  spoken  of,  that  it  was  growing  smaller  every  season 
by  the  breadth  of  a  M'hole  row  of  cabbages.  On  the  one 
side,  however,  were  the  back  walls  of  his  own  and  his 
neighbor's  tenements ;  the  four  large  stones  stretched 
along  the  other ;  and  nothing  surely  could  be  less  Ukely 
than  that  either  the  stones  or  the  houses  should  take  it 
6*  I 


130  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

into  their  heads  to  rob  him  of  his  property.  But  the 
more  he  strove  to  exclude  the  idea,  the  more  it  pressed 
upon  him.  He  measured  and  remeasured,  to  convince 
himself  that  it  was  a  false  one,  and  found  that  he  had 
fallen  on  just  the  means  of  estabhshing  its  truth.  The 
garden  was  actually  growing  smaller.  But  how  ?  Just 
because  it  was  bewitched !  It  was  shrinking  into  itself 
under  the  force  of  some  potent  enchantment,  like  a  piece 
of  plaiding  in  the  fulling-mill.  No  hypothesis  could  be 
more  congenial ;  and  he  would  have  held  by  it,  perhaps, 
until  his  dying  day,  had  it  not  beeu  struck  down  by  one 
of  those  chance  discoveries  which  destroy  so  many  beau- 
tiful systems  and  spoil  so  much  ingenious  philosophy, 
quite  in  the  way  that  Newton's  apple  struck  down  the 
vortices  of  Descartes. 

He  was  lying  abed  one  morning  in  spring,  about  day- 
break, when  his  attention  was  excited  by  a  strange  noise 
which  seemed  to  proceed  from  his  garden.  Had  he 
heard  it  two  hours  earlier,  he  would  have  wrapped  up 
his  head  in  the  bedclothes  and  lain  still ;  but  now  that 
the  cock  had  crown,  it  could  not,  he  concluded,  be  other 
than  natural.  Hastily  throwing  on  part  of  his  clothes, 
he  stole  warily  to  a  back  window,  and  saw,  between  him 
and  the  faint  light  that  was  beginning  to  peep  out  in  the 
east,  the  figure  of  a  man,  armed  with  a  lever,  tugging 
at  the  stones.  Two  had  already  been  shifted  a  full  yard 
nearer  the  houses,  and  the  figure  was  straining  over  a 
third.  Wood  crept  s(ealtliily  out  at  the  window,  crawled 
on  all  fours  to  the  intruder,  and,  tripi)ing  up  his  heels, 
laid  him  across  his  lever.  It  was  his  knavish  neighbor, 
the   shoemaker.     A  scene  of  noisy  contention  ensued; 


SANDY    WOOD^S    SEPULCHE.E.  131 

groups  of  half-dressed  townsfolk,  looming  horribly  in 
their  shirts  and  nightcaps  through  the  gray  of  the 
morning,  came  issuing  through  the  lanes  and  the  closes ; 
and  the  combatants  were  dragged  asunder.  And  well 
was  it  for  the  shoemaker  that  it  was  so;  for  Wood, 
though  in  his  sixtieth  year,  was  strong  enough,  and  more 
than  angry  enough,  to  have  torn  him  to  pieces ;  now, 
however,  that  the  warfare  had  to  be  carried  on  by  words, 
the  case  was  quite  reversed. 

"  Neebours,"  said  the  shoemaker,  who  had  the  double 
advantage  of  being  exceedingly  plausible  and  decidedly 
in  the  wrong,  "I'm desperately  Ul  used  this  morning,  — 
desperately  ill-used,  —  he  would  baith  rob  aud  murder 
me.  I  laug  jaloused,  ye  see,  that  my  wee  bit  o'  a  yard 
was  growing  Uttler  and  littler  ilka  season;  and  though 
no  verra  ready  to  suspect  folk,  I  just  thought  I  would 
keep  watch  and  see  wha  was  shiftmg  the  mark-staues. 
Weel,  and  I  did.  Late  and  early  did  I  watch  for  mair 
now  than  a  fortnight ;  and  wha  did  I  see  this  morning 
through  the  back  winnock  but  auld  Sandy  "Wood  there 
in  his  very  sark,  —  O,  it 's  no  him  that  has  ony  thought 
o'  this  end  !  —  poking  the  stones  wi'  a  lang  kebar,  intil 
the  verra  heart  o'  my  grun'  ?  See,"  said  he,  pointing  to 
the  one  that  had  not  yet  been  moved,  —  "  see  if  he  liasna 
shifted  it  a  laug  ell ;  and  only  notice  the  craft  o'  the  body 
in  stirring  up  the  yird  about  the  lave,  as  if  they  had  been 
a'  moved  fra  my  side.  Weel,  I  cam  out  and  challenged 
him,  as  wha  widna  ?  Says  I,  '  Sarmey,  my  man,  that 's 
no  honest ;  I  '11  no  bear  that ' ;  and  nae  mair  had  I  time 
to  say,  when  up  he  flew  at  me  like  a  wull-cat  ;  aud  if  it 
wasna  for  yoursel's,  I  dare  say  he  would  hae  throttled 


132  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

me.  Look  tow  I  'm  bleedin' ;  and  only  look  till  him, 
—  look  tni  the  caukart,  deceitful  bodie,  if  he  has  one 
word  to  put  in  for  lunisel'." 

There  was  truth  in,  at  least,  this  last  assertion ;  for 
poor  Wood,  mute  with  rage  and  astonishment,  stood 
listening,  in  utter  helplessness,  to  the  astounding  charge 
of  the  shoemaker,  —  almost  the  very  charge  he  himself 
had  to  prefer.  Twice  did  he  spring  forward  to  grapple 
with  him,  but  the  neighbors  held  him  back  ;  and  every 
time  he  essayed  to  speak,  his  words  —  massed  and  tangled 
together,  like  wreaths  of  sea-weed  in  a  hurricane  —  stuck 
in  his  throat.  He  continued  to  rage  for  three  days  after ; 
and  when  the  eruption  had  at  length  subsided,  all  his 
former  resentments  were  found  to  be  swallowed  up,  like 
the  lesser  craters  of  a  volcano,  in  the  gulf  of  one  immense 
hatred. 

His  house,  as  has  been  said,  lay  contiguous  to  the 
house  of  the  shoemaker,  and  he  could  not  avoid  seeing 
him  every  time  he  went  out  and  came  in,  —  a  circumstance 
which  he,  at  first,  deemed  rather  gratifying  than  other- 
wise. It  prevented  liis  hatred  from  beeomiag  vapid,  by 
setting  it  working  at  least  ten  times  a  day,  as  a  musket 
would  a  barrel  of  ale  if  discharged  into  the  buug-hole. 
Its  frequency,  however,  at  length  sickened  liim,  and  he 
had  employed  a  mason  to  build  a  stone-wall,  which,  by 
stretcliing  from  side  to  side  of  the  close,  was  to  shut  up 
the  view,  when  lie  sickened  in  right  earnest,  and  at  the 
end  of  a  few  days  found  liimself  dying. 

Still,  however,  he  was  possessed  by  his  one  engrossing 
resentment.  It  mingled  with  all  his  thoughts  of  the  past 
and  the  future ;  and  not  only  was  he  to  carry  it  with  him 


SAJSTDY  wood's  sepulchee.  133 

to  the  world  to  wliicli  lie  was  going,  but  also  to  leave  it 
behind  him  as  a  legacy  to  his  children.  Among  his 
many  other  beliefs,  there  was  a  superstition,  handed 
down  from  the  times  of  the  monks,  that  at  the  day  of 
final  doom  all  the  people  of  the  sheriffdom  were  to  be 
judged  on  the  moor  of  Navity ;  and  both  the  judgment 
and  the  scene  of  it  he  had  indissolubly  associated  with 
the  shoemaker  and  the  four  stones.  Experience  had 
taught  him  the  importance  of  securing  a  first  hearing 
for  his  story ;  for  was  his  neighbor,  he  concluded,  to  be 
beforehand  with  him,  he  woidd  have  as  slight  a  chance  of 
being  righted  at  Navity  as  in  his  own  garden.  After 
brooding  over  the  matter  for  a  whole  day,  he  called  his 
friends  and  children  round  his  bed,  and  raised  himself  on 
his  elbow  to  address  them. 

"I'm  weering  awa,  bairns  and  neebours,"  he  said, 
"  and  it  vexes  me  sair  that  that  wretched  body  should 
see  me  going  afore  him.  Mind,  Jock,  that  ye  '11  build 
the  dike,  and  make  it  heigh,  heigh,  and  stobbie  on  the 
top  ;  and  oh  !  keep  him  out  o'  my  lykewake ;  for  should 
he  but  step  in  at  the  door,  I  '11  rise,  Jock,  frae  the  verra 
straiking-board  and  do  murder ;  dinna  let  him  sa  muckle 
as  look  on  my  coffin.  I  've  been  pondering  a'  this  day 
about  the  meeting  at  the  Navity,  and  the  mark-stanes ; 
and  I  '11  tell  you,  Jock,  how  we  '11  match  him.  Bury  me 
ayont  the  saint's  dike,  on  the  Navity  side,  and  dinna  lay 
me  deep.  Ye  ken  the  bonny  green  hillock,  speckled 
o'er  wi'  gowans  and  puddock-flowcrs,  — ■  bury  me  there, 
Jock;  and  yoursel'  and  the  auld  wife  may  just,  when 
your  hour  comes,  tak'  up  your  places  beside  me.  We  '11 
a'  get  up  at  the  first  tout,  —  the  ane  helping  the  other ; 


134  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

and  I  'se  wad  a'  I  'm  wortli  i'  the  warld,  we  '11  be  half-way 
up  at  Navity  afore  the  shochlan,  short-legged  body  wins 
o'er  the  dike." 

Such  was  the  dying  injunction  of  Sandy  Wood ;  and 
his  tombstone  still  remains  to  testify  that  it  was  religiously 
attended  to.  An  Englishman  who  came  to  reside  in  the 
parish  nearly  an  age  after,  and  to  whom  the  story  must 
have  been  imparted  in  a  rather  imperfect  manner,  was 
shocked  by  what  he  deemed  his  unfair  policy.  The 
litigants,  he  said,  should  start  together;  he  was  certain 
it  would  be  so  in  England,  where  a  fair  field  was  all  that 
would  be  given  to  St.  Dunstan  himself,  though  he  fought 
with  the  Devil.  And  that  it  might  be  so  here,  he  buried 
the  tombstone  of  Wood  in  an  immense  heap  of  clay  and 
gravel.  It  would  keep  him  down,  he  said,  untQ  the  little 
fellow  would  have  clambered  over  the  wall.  The  towns- 
folk, however,  who  were  better  acquainted  with  the  merits 
of  the  case,  shovelled  the  heap  aside ;  and  it  now  forms 
two  little  hillocks  which  overtop  the  stone,  and  which, 
from  the  nature  of  the  soil,  are  still  more  scantily  covered 
with  verdure  than  any  part  of  the  surrounding  bank. 


A  VISIT  TO  THE  ASYLUM  FOR  AGED  AND 
DECAYED    PUNSTERS. 

BY  OLIVER.  WENDELL  HOLMES. 


AVING  just  returned  from  a  visit  to  this  ad- 
mirable Institution  in  company  with  a  friend 
who  is  one  of  the  Directors,  we  propose  giving 
a  short  account  of  what  we  saw  and  heard.  The  great 
success  of  the  Asylum  for  Idiots  and  Feeble-minded 
Youth,  several  of  the  scholars  from  which  have  reached 
considerable  distinction,  one  of  them  being  connected 
with  a  leading  daily  paper  in  this  city,  and  others  having 
served  in  the  State  and  national  legislatures,  was  the 
motive  which  led  to  the  foundation  of  this  excellent 
charity.  Our  late  distinguished  townsman,  Noah  Dow, 
Esquire,  as  is  well  known,  bequeathed  a  large  portion 
of  his  fortune  to  this  establishment,  —  "being  thereto 
moved,"  as  his  will  expressed  it,  "by  the  desire  of  N. 
Dowing  some  publick  Institution  for  the  benefit  of  Man- 
kind." Being  consulted  as  to  the  rules  of  the  institution 
and  the  selection  of  a  superintendent,  he  replied,  that 
"all  boards  must  construct  their  own  platforms  of 
operation.      Let  them  select  ani/hoio  and  he  should  be 


136  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

pleased."  N.  E.  Howe,  Esq.,  was  chosen  in  compliance 
with  this  delicate  suggestion. 

The  charter  provides  for  the  support  of  "  One  hundred 
aged  and  decayed  Gentlemen-Punsters."  On  inquiry  if 
there  was  no  provision  for  females,  my  friend  called  my 
attention  to  this  remarkable  psychological  fact,  namely : 
There  is  no  such  thing  as  a  female  Punster. 

This  remark  struck  me  forcibly,  and  on  reflection  I 
found  that  /  never  knew  nor  heard  of  one,  though  I  have 
once  or  twice  heard  a  woman  make  a  single  detached  pun, 
as  I  have  known  a  hen  to  crow. 

On  arriving  at  the  south  gate  of  the  Asylum  grounds, 
I  was  about  to  ring,  but  my  friend  held  my  arm  and 
begged  me  to  rap  with  my  stick,  which  I  did.  An  old 
man  with  a  very  comical  face  presently  opened  the  gate 
and  put  out  his  head. 

"  So  you  prefer  Cane  to  A  hell,  do  you  ?  "  he  said,  — 
and  began  chuckling  and  coughing  at  a  great  rate. 

My  friend  winked  at  me. 

"  You're  here  stUl,  Old  Joe,  I  see,"  he  said  to  the  old 
man. 

"Yes,  yes,  —  and  it's  very  odd,  considering  how  often 
I've  bolted  nights." 

He  then  threw  open  the  double  gates  for  us  to  ride 
through. 

"  Now,"  said  the  old  man,  as  he  puUcd  the  gates  after 
MS,  "  you've  had  a  long  journey." 

"  Why,  how  is  that.  Old  Joe  ?  "  said  my  friend. 

"  Don't  you  see  ?  "  lie  answered  ;  "  there  's  the  East 
hinges  on  one  side  of  the  gate,  and  there 's  the  West  hinges 
on  t'  other  side,  —  haw  !  haw  !  haw  !  " 


ASYLUM  b'OR  AGED  AND  DECAYED  PUNSTERS.  lo7 

We  had  no  sooner  got  into  the  yard  than  a  feeble  little 
gentleman,  with  a  remarkably  bright  eye,  came  up  to  us, 
looking  very  seriousV,  as  if  something  had  happened. 

"  The  town  has  entered  a  complaint  against  the  Asylum 
as  a  gamblmg  establishment,"  he  said  to  my  friend,  the 
Director. 

"  What  do  yon  mean  ?  "  said  my  friend. 

"  Why,  they  complain  that  there  's  a  lot  o'  rye  on  the 
premises,"  he  answered,  pointing  to  a  field  of  that  grain, 
1  —  and  hobbled  away,  his  shoulders  shaking  with  laughter, 
as  he  went. 

On  entering  the  main  building,  we  saw  the  Rules  and 
Regulations  for  the  Asylum  conspicuously  posted  up.  I 
made  a  few  extracts  which  may  be  interesting. 

SECT.  I.  OF  VERBAL  EXERCISES. 

5.  Each  Inmate  shall  be  permitted  to  make  Puns  freely 
from  eight  in  the  morning  until  ten  at  night,  except 
during  Service  in  the  Chapel  and  Grace  before  Meals. 

6.  At  ten  o'clock  the  gas  will  be  turned  off,  and  no 
further  Puns,  Conundrums,  or  other  play  on  words,  will 
be  allowed  to  be  uttered,  or  to  be  uttered  aloud. 

9.  Inmates  who  have  lost  their  faculties  and  cannot 
any  longer  make  Puns  shall  be  permitted  to  repeat  such 
as  may  be  selected  for  them  by  the  Chaplain  out  of  the 
work  of  Mr.  Joseph  Miller. 

10.  Violent  and  unmauageablc  Punsters,  who  interrupt 
others  when  engaged  in  conversation,  with  Puns  or 
attempts  at  the  same,  shall  be  deprived  of  their  Joseph 
Millers,  and,  if  ncccssai'y,  placed  in  solitary  confuiement. 


138  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

SECT.  III.     OF  DEPORTMENT  AT  MEALS. 

4.  No  Inmate  shall  make  any  Puu,  or  attempt  at  the 
same,  until  the  Blessing  has  been  asked  and  the  company 
are  decently  seated. 

7.  Certain  Puns  ha\ang  been  placed  on  the  Index 
Exjmrffatorius  of  the  Institution,  no  Inmate  shall  be 
allowed  to  utter  them,  on  pain  of  being  debarred  the 
perusal  of  Punch  and  Vanity  Fair,  and,  if  repeated, 
deprived  of  his  Joseph  Miller. 

Among  these  are  the  following  :  — 

Allusions  to  Attic  salt,  when  asked  to  pass  the  salt- 
cellar. 

Remarks  on  the  Inmates  being  mustered,  etc.,  etc. 

Associating  baked  beans  with  the  beneiaciors  of  the 
Institution. 

Saying  that  beef-eating  is  befitting,  etc.,  etc. 

The  following  are  also  prohibited,  exceptmg  to  such 
Inmates  as  may  have  lost  their  faculties  and  cannot  any 
longer  make  Puns  of  their  own  :  — 

"■ your  own  hair  or  a  wig";  "it  will  be  long 

enough,^'  etc.,  etc. ;  "  little  of  its  age,"  etc.,  etc. ; —  also, 
playing  upon  the  followiug  words  :  //ospital ;  mayor ; 
pun;  jtilied ;  bread ;  sauce,  etc.,  etc.,  etc.  See  Index 
ExPUHGATOiiius,  jirinted  for  use  of  Inmates. 

The  subjoined  Conundrum  is  not  allowed  :  —  Why  is 
Hasty  Pudding  Like  the  Prince  ?  Because  it  comes 
attended  by  its  sweet ;  —  nor  this  variation  to  it,  to  wit: 
Because  the  'lasses  runs  after  it. 

The  Superintendent,  who  went  round  with  us,  had 
been  a  noted  punster  in  his  time,  and  well  known  in  the 


ASYLUM  FOR  AGED  AND  DECAYED  PUNSTERS.    139 

busiucss-world,  but  lost  liis  customers  by  making  too  free 
with  tbeir  uames,  —  as  in  the  famous  story  he  set  afloat 
in  '29  oi  four  Jerries  attaching  to  the  names  of  a  noted 
Judge,  an  eminent  Lawyer,  the  Secretary  of  the  Board 
of  Foreign  Missions,  and  the  well-known  Landlord  at 
Springfield.  One  of  the  four  Jerries,  he  added,  was  of 
gigantic  magnitude.  The  play  ou  words  was  brought 
out  by  an  accidental  remark  of  Solomons,  the  well-known 
Banker.  "  Capital  punishment  !  "  the  Jew  was  over- 
heard saying,  with  reference  to  the  guilty  parties.  He 
was  understood  as  saying,  A  capital  pun  is  meant,  which 
led  to  an  investigation  and  the  relief  of  the  greatly  excited 
public  mind. 

The  Superintendent  showed  some  of  his  old  tendencies, 
as  he  went  round  with  us. 

"  Do  you  know  "  —  he  broke  out  all  at  once  —  "  why 
tliey  don't  take  steppes  in  Tartary  for  estabUshiug  Insane 
Hospitals  ?  " 

We  both  confessed  ignorance. 

"  Because  there  are  nomad  people  to  be  found  there," 
he  said,  with  a  dignified  smile. 

He  proceeded  to  introduce  us  to  different  Inmates. 
The  first  was  a  middle-aged,  scholarly  man,  who  was 
seated  at  a  table  with  a  Webster's  Dictionary  and  a  sheet 
of  paper  before  him. 

"  Well,  what  luck  to-day,  Mr.  Mowzer  ?  " 

"  Three  or  four  only,"  said  Mr.  Mowzer.  "  Will  you 
hear  'em  now,  —  now  I  'm  here  ?  " 

We  aU  nodded. 

"  Don't  you  see  Webster  ers  in  the  words  center  and 
theat(?r  ? 


140  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

"  If  he  spells  leather  lether,  and  feather  /ether,  is  n't 
there  danger  that  he  'II  give  us  a  bad  spell  of  weather  ? 

"  Besides,  "Webster  is  a  resurrectionist ;  he  does  not 
allow  u  to  rest  quietly  in  the  mould. 

"  And  again,  because  Mr.  Worcester  inserts  an  illus- 
tration in  his  text,  is  that  any  reason  why  Mr.  Webster's 
publishers  should  hitch  one  on  in  their  appendix  ?  It 's 
■what  I  call  a  Connect-a-cut  trick. 

"  Why  is  his  way  of  spelling  like  the  floor  of  an  oven  ? 
Because  it  is  wider  bread." 

"  Mowzer  !  "  said  the  Superintendent,  —  "  that  word 
is  on  the  Index  !  " 

"I  forgot,"  said  Mr.  Mowzer;  "please  don't  deprive 
me  of  Vanity  Fair,  this  one  time,  Sir. 

"  These  are  all,  this  morning.  Good  day.  Gentlemen." 
Then  to  the  Superintendent,  —  "Add  you.  Sir  !  " 
■  The  next  Inmate  was  a  semi-idiotic  looking  old  man. 
He  had  a  heap  of  block-letters  before  him,  and,  as  we 
came  up,  he  pointed,  without  saying  a  word,  to  the 
arrangements  he  had  made  with  them  on  the  table.  They 
were  evidently  anagrams,  and  had  the  merit  of  trans- 
posuig  the  letters  of  the  words  employed  without  addition 
or  subtraction.     Here  are  a  few  of  them  :  — 

Times Smite  ! 

Post Stop  ! 

Teibune True  nib. 

WoELD Dr.  Owl. 

Advertiser     ...      i  ^^^  ^^^^  ^^t. 

\  Is  true.     Read  ! 

Allopathy       .     .     .      All  o'  th'  pay. 
Homeopathy  ...      0,  the !  0  !  0,  my  I  Pah  I 


ASYLUM  FOR  AGED  AND  DECAYED  PUNSTERS.  141 

The  mention  of  several  New  York  papers  led  to  two  or 
three  questions.  Thus  :  Wliether  the  Editor  of  the  Trib- 
vuie  was  H.  G.  reulhj  ?  If  the  complexion  of  his  politics 
were  not  accounted  for  by  his  being  an  eager  person 
himself  ?'  Whether  Wendell  Fillips  were  not  a  reduced 
copy  of  John  Knocks  ?  Whether  a  New  York  Fetiille- 
toniste  is  not  the  same  thing  as  a  Fellow  doicn  East  ? 

At  this  time  a  plausible-looking,  bald-headed  man 
joined  us,  evidently  waiting  to  take  a  part  in  the  con- 
versation. 

"  Good  morning,  Mr.  Higgles,"  said  the  Superintendent. 
"  Anything  fresh  tliis  morning  ?     Any  Conundrum  ? " 

'•'  I  have  n't  looked  at  the  cattle,"  he  answered  dryly. 

"  Cattle  ?    Why  cattle  ?  " 

■'Why,  to  see  if  there 's  any  corn  under  'em  !  "  he  said ; 
and  immediately  asked,  "Why  is  Douglas  like  the 
earth  ? " 

We  tried,  but  could  n't  guess. 

"  Because  he  ^a^Jlattened  out  at  the  polls  !  "  said  Mr. 
Riggles. 

"A  famous  politician,  formerly,"  said  the  Superin- 
tendent. "  His  grandfather  was  a  seize-Hessian-ist  in 
the  Revolutionary  War.  By  the  way,  I  hear  the  freeze- 
oil  doctrines  don't  go  down  at  New  Bedford." 

The  next  Inmate  looked  as  if  he  might  have  been  a 
sailor  formerly. 

"Ask  him  what  his  calling  was,"  said  the  Superin- 
tendent. 

"  Followed  the  sea,"  he  replied  to  the  question  put  by 
one  of  us.     "  Went  as  mate  in  a  fishing-schooner." 

"  Why  did  you  give  it  up  ?  " 


142  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

"Because  I  didn't  like  working  for  two  mast-ers"  Le 
replied. 

Presently  we  came  upon  a  group  of  elderly  persons, 
gathered  about  a  venerable  gentleman  with  flowing  locks, 
who  was  propounding  questions  to  a  row  of  Inmates. 

"  Can  any  Inmate  give  me  a  motto  for  M.  Berger  ?  " 
he  said. 

Nobody  responded  for  two  or  three  minutes.  At  last 
one  old  man,  whom  I  at  once  recognized  as  a  Graduate 
of  our  University  (Anno  1800),  held  up  his  hand. 

"  Rem  a  cue  tetigit." 

"  Go  to  the  head  of  the  Class,  Josselyn,"  said  the 
venerable  Patriarch. 

The  successful  Inmate  did  as  he  was  told,  but  in  a 
very  rough  way,  pushing  against  two  or  three  of  the 
Class. 

"  ^ow  is  this  ?  "  said  the  Patriarch. 

"  You  told  me  to  go  m^  jontlhi'"  he  replied. 

The  old  gentlemen  who  had  been  shoved  about  enjoyed 
the  Pun  too  much  to  be  angry. 

Presently  the  Patriarch  asked  again,  — 

"  Why  was  M.  Berger  authorized  to  go  to  the  dances 
given  to  the  Prince  ?  " 

The  Class  had  to  give  up  this,  and  he  answered  it 
himself :  — 

"  Because  every  one  of  his  carroms  was  a  tick-it  to  the 
ball." 

"Who  collects  the  money  to  defray  the  expenses  of 
the  last  campaign  in  Italy  ?  "  asked  the  Patriarch. 

Here  again  the  Class  failed. 

"  The  war-cloud's  rolling  Bun,"  he  answered. 


ASYLUM  FOB,  AGED  AND  DECAYED  PUNSTERS.  143 

"  And  what  is  mulled  wine  made  witli  ?  " 

Three  or  four  voices  exclaimed  at  once,  — 

"  Sizzle-y  Madeira !  " 

Here  a  servant  entered,  and  said,  "  Luncheon-time." 
The  old  gentlemen,  who  have  excellent  appetites,  dispersed 
at  once,  one  of  them  politely  asking  us  if  we  would  nr 
stop  and  have  a  bit  of  bread  and  a  little  mite  of  cheesf 

"There  is  one  thing  I  have  forgotten  to  show  y  • 
said  the  Superintendent,  —  "  the  cell  for  the  confiueu 
of  violent  and  unmanageable  Punsters." 

We  were  very  curious  to  see  it,  particularly  with 
reference  to  the  alleged  absence  of  every  object  upon 
which  a  play  of  words  could  possibly  be  made. 

The  Superintendent  led  us  up  some  dark  stairs  to  a 
corridor,  then  along  a  narrow  passage,  then  down  a 
broad  flight  of  steps  into  another  passage-way,  and 
opened  a  large  door  which  looked  out  on  the  main  en- 
trance. 

"We  have  not  seen  the  cell  for  the  confinement  of 
'  violent  and  unmanageable '  Punsters,"  we  both  ex- 
claimed. 

"This  is  the  sell!"  he  exclaimed,  pointing  to  the 
outside  prospect. 

My  friend,  the  Director,  looked  me  in  the  face  so 
good-naturedly  that  I  had  to  laugh. 

"We  like  to  humor  the  Inmates,"  he  said.  "It  has 
a  bad  effect,  we  find,  on  their  health  and  spirits  to 
disappoint  them  of  their  little  pleasantries.  Some  of 
the  jests  to  which  wc  have  listened  arc  not  new  to  me, 
'hough  I  dare  say  you  may  not  have  heard  them  often 
jfore.     The  same  thing  happens  in  general  society,  with 


144  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

tliis  additional  disadvantage,  that  there  is  no  punishment 
provided  for  '  violent  and  unmanageable  '  Punsters,  as  in 
our  mstitution." 

We  made  our  bow  to  the  Superintendent  and  walked 
to  the  place  where  our  carriage  was  waiting  for  us.  On 
our  way,  an  exceedingly  decrepit  old  man  moved  slowly 
towards  us,  with  a  perfectly  blank  look  on  his  face,  but 
stiU  appearing  as  if  he  wished- to  speak. 

"  Look  !  "  said  the  Director,  — "  that  is  our  Cen- 
tenarian." 

The  ancient  man  crawled  towards  us,  cocked  one  eye, 
with  which  he  seemed  to  see  a  httle,  up  at  us,  aud  said,  — 

"Sarvant,  young  Gentlemen.  Why  is  a  —  a  —  a  — 
Uke  a  —  a  —  a  —  ?  Give  it  up  ?  Because  it 's  a  —  a  — 
a  — a—." 

He  smiled  a  pleasant  smUe,  as  if  it  were  all  plain 
enough. 

"One  hundred  and  seven  last  Christmas,"  said  the 
Director.  "  He  lost  his  answers  about  the  age  of  ninety- 
eight.  Of  late  years  he  puts  his  whole  Conundrums  in 
blank,  —  but  they  please  him  just  as  well." 

We  took  our  departure,  much  gratified  and  instnicted 
by  our  visit,  lioping  to  have  some  future  opportimity  of 
inspecting  the  records  of  this  exceUeut  charity  and  making 
extracts  for  the  benefit  of  our  readers. 


MR.  TIBBOT  O'LEARY,   THE  CURIOUS. 

BY  GERALD  GRIFFIN. 


N  that  exceedingly  romantic,  but  lonesome  tract 
of  country  which  extends  along  the  Upper  Lake 
of  Killarucy,  stood,  within  my  own  recollection, 
one  of  those  antique  mansions  which  are  to  be  found  in 
difTerent  stages  of  decay  in  many  parts  of  the  country. 
It  was  easy  to  see,  from  the  style  of  building,  that  the 
hands  by  which  it  was  raised  had  given  up  business  for 
more  than  a  century,  at  least. 

In  this  house,  somewhat  less  than  fifty  years  since, 
dwelt  a  gentleman  of  very  ancient  family  indeed.  He 
was  one  of  those  persons  whose  faces  ought  to  be  turned 
behind  them,  in  order  to  correspond  with  the  prevailing 
bias  of  their  intellects,  for  he  seemed  to  think  of  nothing 
but  the  past,  and  was  inflnitcly  more  familiar  with  the 
days  of  Moses  and  Zoroaster,  than  with  liis  own.  As  to 
the  future,  he  saw,  and  desired  to  see,  no  more  of  it  than 
a  man  beholds  of  those  objects  which  stand  m  a  right  line 
beliind  him.  His  tastes,  if  not  so  entirely  sentimental 
as  those  of  Sterne,  who  could  find  more  satisfaction  in 
communing  with  a  dead  ass  than  with  a  living  Christian, 

VOL.  V.  7  J 


146  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

appeared  yet  sufficiently  fantastic  iu  tlieir  way  to  tliat 
very  limited  number  of  persons  who  liad  the  honor  of 
being  scattered  in  his  neighborhood.  A  mouldy  Irish 
manuscript,  a  Danish  rath  or  fort,  a  craggy  ruin  of  an 
Abbey  or  Castle,  which  had  survived  the  very  memory 
of  their  possessors,  a  moss-covered  cromleach,  or  lonely 
Druid  stone,  were  to  him  more  welcome  company  any 
day  in  the  year,  than  the  wittiest  or  most  sociable 
amongst  his  living  friends.  As  to  the  ladies,  if  Cleopatra 
herself  were  to  arise  from  the  grave,  unless  her  great 
antiquity  might  awaken  some  interest  for  her,  she  would 
find  her  charms  and  talents  as  entirely  wasted  on  the 
msipid  mind  of  Mr.  Tibbot  O'Leary,  as  they  were  in  her 
natural  hfetime  on  that  very  ill-bred  gentleman  whom 
they  call  Octavius  Caesar.  Although  habits  of  retirement 
and  absence  of  mind  had  made  him  very  unobservant  of 
the  manners  of  his  own  time,  and  he  was  apt  to  make 
awkward  mistakes  occasionally,  both  at  his  own  table 
and  at  those  of  others,  yet  he  could  hardly  be  taxed  with 
a  want  of  breeding,  for  he  would  have  known  to  a  nicety 
how  to  conduct  himself  at  the  tables  of  Lucullus  or 
Mecoenas,  when  those  who  now  laughed  at  him  for  his 
ignorance  would  have  looked  like  fools  or  clodpoles  by 
his  side. 

But  the  darling  object  of  his  affections  was  a  round 
tower.  What  especially  charmed  hira  about  these  sin- 
gular buildings  was,  that  nobody  in  the  world  could  tell 
for  what  possible  use  they  were  intended.  Volumes  on 
volumes  had  been  written,  all  proving  the  great  learning 
and  aeuteness  of  the  different  writers,  yet  Ihe  subject 
still  remained  as  much  a  mystery,  as  ever.      What  in  the 


MR,    TIBBOT    O^LEAEY^    THE    CURIOUS.      147 

world  could  they  be  for  ?  That  was  the  question  which 
constantly  recurred  to  his  mind,  alone  or  in  company, 
silent  or  conversing,  sleeping  or  awake.  There  they 
were,  round,  lofty  edifices ;  as  cylindrical  inside  and 
outside  as  the  barrel  of  a  gun,  exact  in  all  their  propor- 
tions, and  admirable  in  their  masonry,  yet  of  no  possible 
use  that  anybody  could  divine,  —  no  steps,  —  no  way  of 
getting  up  to  the  top,  either  inside  or  outside,  no  apart- 
ment underneath,  nothing  but  its  small  doorway,  and  the 
tall  circular  wall,  as  if  the  sole  object  of  the  founder  had 
been  to  show  how  high  it  was  possible  to  build  a  round 
wall  which  could  not  be  of  any  earthly  use  to  himself  or 
to  anybody  else.  They  could  scarcely  have  been  watch- 
towers,  seeing  that  some  (as  at  Glendaloch)  were  at  the 
bottom  of  a  valley,  and  surrounded  by  hills,  any  one  of 
which  would  give  a  better  view  than  the  top  of  the  round 
tower.  Nor  could  they  have  been  Stylite  columns,  since 
that  was  acknowledged  to  be  almost  exclusively  an 
Oriental  institution.  Nor  could  he  see  that  great  re- 
semblance in  structure  which  others  professed  to  discover 
between  them  and  the  Pyratheia  of  the  Persian  Gaurs, 
which  are  still  to  be  seen  in  the  East,  for  those  last  were 
at  least  habitable  and  accessible.  What  on  earth  could 
they  be  for  ?  There  was  no  knowing,  and  that  was  the 
very  circumstance  which  fascinated  his  mind,  and  kept 
his  intellectual  powers  forever  on  the  stretch. 

Absorbed  by  such  pursuits,  he  felt  not  for  a  long  time 
the  loneliness  of  his  position,  living  in  a  dilapidated  house, 
with  no  other  company  than  that  of  his  man,  Tom  Nash, 
and  a  moving  antique  in  the  shape  of  an  old  woman  who 
took  care  of  his  housekeeping.     Tom  felt  no  great  interest 


148  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

for  ruias  eitlier  old  or  new,  and  had  a  much  keener  taste 
for  a  corned  round  of  beef,  or  a  cheek  of  pork  and  greens, 
than  for  all  the  round  towers  between  Scattery  Island 
and  the  Persian  Gulf.  However,  he  always  listened  or 
seemed  to  listen  attentively,  while  his  master  spoke ;  and 
as  the  latter,  in  their  rambles  from  place  to  place,  un- 
folded to  his  mind's  eye  the  most  recondite  learning  of 
past  ages,  he  was  careful  to  mark  at  the  same  time  his 
attention,  and  his  astonishment,  at  every  new  piece  of 
information,  by  such  intelligent  obsei'vations  as,  "  See 
that!"  "Murther,  murther!"  "Well,  well,  there's 
nothing  can  surpass  the  art  o'  man !  " 

In  this  complacency  he  found  his  account.  An  attentive 
or  patient  pair  of  eaia  was  an  article  which  his  master 
valued  in  proportion  to  its  rarity ;  and  as  amongst  the  few 
which  flourished  in  his  vicuiity,  stUl  fewer  were  at  his 
service  as  often  as  he  cordd  wish,  his  esteem  for  those 
which  adorned  the  head  of  Tom  Nash  made  him  liberal 
to  their  owner.  And  if  ever  any  piece  of  neglect  or 
awkwardness  occurred  to  dimmish  the  cordiality  with 
which  his  master  always  treated  him,  Tom  had  it  always 
in  his  power  to  restore  himself  to  favor  by  taking  the 
first  opportunity  to  ask,  as  if  from  a  revery,  "  Why 
then,  I  wondher,  masther,  what  in  the  airthly  universe 
could  them  ould  round  towers  be  built  for  ?  " 
•  This  was  certain  to  bring  back  good-humor,  and  in 
the  learned  disquisition  which  followed  all  traces*  of  dis- 
pleasure were  sure  to  be  forgotten. 

I  have  already  said  that  Mr.  O'Leary  lived  almost 
alone,  nor,  though  yet  young,  did  he  seem  to  have  any 
idea  of  (as  the  phrase  is)    "  changing  his   condition." 


MR.    TIBBOT    o'lEARY,    THE    CUUIOUS.      149 

Rumor  said,  indeed  (for  rumor  "will  find  its  way  even  into 
a  wilderness),  that  it  had  not  always  been  so,  and  that 
a  disappointment  of  a  nature  which  least  of  all  could 
be  suggested  by  his  present  character  and  pursuits  had 
much  to  do  both  with  his  present  retii'ement  and  his  stud- 
ies. It  was  whispered,  moreover,  that  he  owed  it  all  to  an 
unreasonable  exercise  of  the  same  spirit  of  restless  and 
fidgety  curiosity  which  had  been  a  leading  feature  in  his 
character  from  childhood,  and  many  thought  his  present 
occupations  were  no  more  than  a.  new  direction  taken  by 
the  ruling  passion.  The  manner  in  wliich  he  first  met 
with  his  man  Nash  furnished  a  proof  that  he  had  been 
afflicted  with  it  long  before  it  took  its  present  turn. 

Mr.  Tibbot  O'Leary  was  left  early  in  possession  of  his 
property ;  so  early  that  he  was  compelled  to  become  a 
man  of  business  almost  before  he  was  a  man  at  all.  Even 
at  this  period,  however,  and  indeed  long  before,  he  was 
the  same  busy,  systematic,  prying,  inquisitive,  untiring 
burden  to  himself  and  plague  to  his  neighbors  that  he 
was  all  his  life,  until  his  river  of  curiosity  happily  emptied 
itself  into  the  boundless  ocean  of  antiquarian  research. 
There  was  scarce  a  sentence  left  his  lips,  or  a  thought 
passed  through  his  mind,  which  might  not  have  a  note  of 
interrogation  placed  at  the  end  of  it. 

One  of  his  numerous  daily  practices  was  to  walk  down 
as  far  as  the  gate  of  liis  own  avenue,  which  opened  on 
the  mail-coach  road,  at  half  past  nine  o'clock  every 
morning,  and  at  quarter  to  four  every  evening ;  these 
being  the  two  diurnal  periods  at  which  the  coach  passed, 
or  ought  to  pass,  on  its  way  to  and  from  the  nearest 
county  town.     And  if  he  were  too  early  for  the  coacli 


150  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

(he  never  was  too  late),  he  would  wait  patiently,  with  his 
back  against  the  pier  of  his  gate,  until  the  "  conveniency  " 
made  its  appearance,  and  at  the  very  instant  it  was  pass- 
ing his  own  gate,  he  would  draw  out  his  sUver  hunting- 
watch  and  mark  the  time,  and  then  leisurely  walk  home 
and  compare  his  watch  with  the  dial,  and  tlien  compare 
the  dial  with  the  almanac,  making  allowance  to  the  fourth 
place  of  decimals  for  diiference  of  longitude,  and  thus 
discover  exactly  how  many  minutes,  or  fractions  of 
minutes,  the  coach  had  been  "  behind  time"  iu  its  pro- 
gress for  that  day.  Nor  was  he  a  jot  disconcerted  by 
observmg  (indeed,  he  did  not  observe  it  at  all)  that  in 
progress  of  time  the  automaton-like  regularity  of  his 
appearance  and  of  his  movements,  the  punctual  apparition 
of  his  figure  seen  afar  off  leaning  against  the  pier,  the 
motion  of  the  hand  to  the  watch-fob  as  the  coach  drew 
nigh,  the  production  of  the  time-piece,  and  the  glance  at 
the  coach  to  observe  the  precise  moment  when  they  were 
in  a  direct  line  opposite  the  gate,  all  became  matter  of 
undisguised  amusement  to  the  coachman  and  his  passen- 
gers, who  might  be  seen  looking  back  with  laughing 
countenances,  as  he  put  up  his  watch  with  the  air  of  a 
philosopher,  and  walked  up  the  avenue,  to  complete  the 
troublesome  process  which  he  had  imposed  on  himself  as 
a  morning  and  evening  recreation. 

"Have  you  any  news?"  was  at  this  time  the  second 
or  third,  and  often  tlic  first  question  which  he  put  to 
every  acquaintance  at  meeting.  Having,  unhkc  busy- 
bodies  in  general,  brought  his  own  aflairs  into  tolerable 
order,  little  remained  for  him  to  do  besides  interesting 
himself  in  those  of  the  world  outside ;    and  his  feeble 


MR.    TIBBOT    o'lEARY^    THE    CURIOUS.      151 

mind,  like  a  creeping  slirub  unable  to  support  itself,  went 
throwing  its  tendrils  about  in  all  directions,  seeking  for 
events  and  circumstances  to  prevent  it  from  falling  back 
an  inert  mass  upon  itself.  Fortunately,  his  hunger  for 
novelty  was  of  a  kind  which  was  easily  appeased.  His 
more  observant  friends  soon  remarked  that  any  answer 
satisfied  him,  except  a  direct  negative,  and  this  was  his 
aversion.  To  tell  him  of  a  sick  cow,  a  dog  strayed  or 
poisoned,  a  servant  turned  off,  a  leg  of  mutton  spoiled  in 
the  cooking,  anything  was  preferable  to  the  barren  and 
unwelcome  "  No."  Indeed,  to  those  who  knew  him,  few 
things  could  be  more  painful  than  its  infliction ;  and, 
accordingly,  where  it  was  understood  that  nothing  more 
was  requisite  than  merely  to  keep  the  sense  of  hearing 
in  play  for  a  certain  portion  of  time,  there  was  scarcely 
any  one  who  had  not  got  news  of  some  kind  for  Tibbot 
O'Leary.  Those  who  did  not  know  him  were  not  so 
well  aware  of  the  nature  of  the  food  for  which  he  craved, 
and  were  not  so  prompt  in  satisfying  his  hunger,  as 
was  exemplified  in  his  first  meeting  with  his  man  Tom 
Nash. 

One  morning  Mr.  Tibbot  O'Leary  arrived  as  usual  a 
few  minutes  before  half  past  nine  o'clock  at  his  own  pier 
gate.  Crossing  the  stile,  he  was  surprised  and  discon 
certed  to  find  his  place  occupied  by  a  young  country  lad, 
who  seemed  to  have  made  a  long  and  wearisome  journey, 
and  was  now  resting  in  Tibbot's  favorite  attitude,  and 
against  his  favorite  pier.  The  lad  touched  his  hat 
respectfully,  but  did  not  move.  Mr.  O'Leary  began  to 
grow  fidgety,  but  felt  as  if  it  would  be  inhospitable  to 
d:;sirc  him  to  change  his  quarters ;  besides  that,  it  would 


152  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

look  somewhat  ridiculous  to  turn  him  away  from  the 
pier  merely  for  the  purpose  of  taking  the  place  himself, 
and  the  fellow  had  an  arch  eye  which  looked  as  if  nothing 
ridiculous  would  be  likely  to  escape  it.  The  exclusive 
possession  of  the  pier  of  a  gate  could  hardly  be  an  object 
of  ambition  to  any  being,  except  a  cow  to  whom  the 
sharp  angle  at  the  comer  might  be  a  temptation,  or  a 
human  being  inclined  to  mdulge  in  the  same  pastime. 
Mr.  O'Leary,  however,  had  no  such  inclination;  so,  on 
that  morning,  the  coachman,  the  guard,  and  the  passen- 
gers were  astonished  to  behold  Mr.  O'Leary  for  the  first 
time  go  through  his  customary  evolutions  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  gate  to  that  at  which  he  was  wont  to  stand. 
After  the  coach  had  passed,  and  the  watch  was  put  up, 
Tibbot  glanced  at  the  individual  who  ornamented  the 
opposite  pier,  and  said,  — 

"  Well,  my  man,  who  are  you  ?  " 

"  A  poor  boy,  plase  your  honor." 

"  Have  you  any  news  ?  " 

"  Not  a  word,  your  honor." 

"  No  news  !     What 's  your  name  ?  " 

"Tom  Nash,  sir"  (respectfully  touching  the  leaf  of  his 
hat  with  the  lip  of  his  forefinger). 

"  Where  do  you  come  from  ?  " 

"  E'stwards,  your  honor." 

"  And  where  are  you  going  ?  " 

"  Westwards,  your  honor." 

"  And  you  have  no  news  ?  " 

"  Not  a  word,  plase  your  honor." 

"  How  far  do  you  mean  to  go  ?  " 

"Why  then,  just  until  somebody  axes  me  to  stay." 


ME,.    TIBBOT    o'lEARY^    THE    CURIOUS.      153 

"  And  whom  do  you  expect  to  '  ax  '  you,  as  you  call 
it?" 

"  Wislia,  some  gentleman  that  '11  have  an  open  heart 
an'  a  house  by  the  roadside.  Sure,  't  is  u't  any  close- 
fisted  negar  I  'd  expect  to  ax  me." 

"  Umph !  And  who  do  you  imagme  would  give  a 
night's  lodging  to  a  person  like  you,  who  has  n't  got  a 
word  of  news  or  anything  to  say  that  would  make  his 
company  entertaining  or  desirable  ? " 

"  Wisha,  that 's  as  it  falls  out.  If  they  does  u't  do  it 
for  God's  sake,  I  don't  expect  they'd  do  it  for  mine. 
'T  is  n't  any  fault  o'  mine.  If  I  hard  any  news  goin'  I 
would  n't  begridge  tellin'  it." 

"  But  you  did  n't  hear  it  ?  " 

"  I  did  not." 

"Not  a  word? " 

"  Not  one." 

"Don't  you  come  from  town  ?  " 

"  I  does." 

"  And  did  u't  you  hear  any  news  there  ?  " 

"  I  did  not." 

"  That 's  very  strange.  They  almost  always  have  news 
in  towu  of  some  kind  or  another." 

"  If  they  had  it,  they  were  very  sparin'  of  it  this  turn, 
for  they  did  n't  give  me  any." 

"  Did  you  ask  for  it  ?  " 

"  Wisha,  then,  not  to  tell  your  honor  a  lie,  I  did  n't. 
I  had  something  else  to  think  of." 

"  What  else  had  you  to  think  of  ? " 

"  0,  then,  my  poverty  and  my  hunger,  an'  the  distance 
that  was  betune  me  an'  home !  " 
7* 


154  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

"  Wliere  is  your  home  ?  " 

"Wisha,  uowhere,  until  some  one  makes  it  out  for 
me.     But  my  native  place  is  behind  near  Kenmare."  ' 

"  How  long  is  it  since  you  left  it  ?  " 

"  Six  years." 

"  And  you  are  now  going  back  ?  " 

"  I  am." 

"  I  suppose  you  had  a  great  many  strange  adventures 
during  your  absence  from  home  ?  " 

"  Och,  then,  not  belyin'  your  honor,  sorrow  a  'venther, 
'cept  that  it  was  a  veuthersom  thing  o'  me  ever  to  think 
of  lavin'  it." 

"  And  did  you  never  hear  anything  worth  relating 
during  all  those  six  years  ?  " 

"  Sorrow  ha'p'orth." 

"  Did  nothing  ever  happen  to  any  of  your  friends  or 
acquaintances  that  might  be  worth  mentionuig  ?  " 

"  Sorrow  ha'p'orth  ever  happened  any  of  'em  as  I 
know." 

"Nor  to  yourself?" 

"  Not  a  ha'p'orth.     What  should  happen  me  ?  " 

"  Did  nobody  ever  teU  you  a  story  of  any  kind  that 
was  worth  listening  to  ?  " 

"  I  never  heard  one." 

If  ever  there  was  an  individual  less  likely  than  another 
to  get  into  the  good  graces  of  Tibbot  O'Leary,  it  was 
the  uninquisitive,  incommunicative  behig  who  now  stood 
before  him.  After  contemplating  his  figure  in  silence 
for  some  moments,  he  turned  away,  saying,  — 

"  Upon  my  word,  my  man,  if  you  have  no  more  than 
that  to  say  to  your  friends  when  you  get  to  Kenmare, 


MU.    TIBBOT   o'lEAUY,    THE    CURIOUS.      155 

you  '11  be  no  great  prize  to  them  when  fhey  have  you,  or 
to  any  one  you  meet  on  the  way  eithec," 

By  this  time  the  traveller  began  to  form  a  better 
estimate  of  the  man  with  whom  he  had  to  deal.  Seeing 
the  inquisitive  gentleman  turn  up  the  avenue  with  a 
discontented  air,  he  thrust  his  head  between  the  bars 
of  the  gate,  and  called  aloud,  — 

"Plase  your  houor  !  " 

"  Well  ?  "  said  Tibbot,  looking  over  his  shoulder. 

"  I  have  some  news,  plase  your  honor." 

The  brow  of  Mr.  O'Leary  relaxed. 

"Well,"  said  he,  "what  is  it?" 

"  I  was  comin'  through  a  part  o'  the  County  Tipperary 
the  other  day,  and  passing  near  the  foot  o'  the  Galteigh 
mountains,  what  should  I  see  only  a  power  o'  people 
with  horses  and  tacklin'  an'  they  dhraggin'  after  'em  the 
longest  bamcs  o'  timber  I  ever  seen  upon  the  road,  — 
great  firs  and  pine-trees  fit  for  the  mast  of  a  man-of-war, 
an'  bigger,  that  looked  as  if  they  were  just  cut  down  for 
some  purpose  or  another,  an'  so  they  wor.  I  wondhered 
greatly,  au'  I  axed  one  o'  the  people  where  it  is  they 
were  goin'  with  the  big  threes.  '  We  're  goin'  to  plant 
'hn  on  tiie  top  o'  the  Galteighs,'  says  he.  '  What  to  do  ? ' 
says  I.  '  A  big  split  that  comes  in  the  sky,'  says  he, 
'  an'  't  is  only  lately  we  observed  it.  So  we  're  gettin'  the 
tallest  threes  we  can  find  to  prop  it  up,  for  the  split  is 
incraisin',  an'  there  's  no  knowin'  the  minute  it  may  fall.' 
When  I  hai'd  that,  I  axed  him  no  more,  but  left  him  an' 
come  away." 

"Well,"  exclaimed  Mr.  O'Leary,  "and  why  didn't 
you  tell  me  that  at  first  ? " 


156  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

"  0,  sure,  't  is  n't  every  news  a  keoict  o'  my  kind  would 
hear,  that  would  be  worth  relating  to  larned  quollity  like 
your  honor." 

"  Come  along,  —  come  along  and  get  your  dinner," 
said  Mr.  O'Leary.  "  You  should  never  say  you  have  no 
news,  man." 

They  went  up  the  avenue  together,  and  so  well  did  the 
traveller  contrive  to  obliterate  the  bad  impression  he  had 
made  in  the  first  instance,  that  before  the  day  was  over 
he  was  formally  inaugurated  into  the  post  which  he  ever 
after  continued  to  hold  in  Mr.  O'Leary's  household. 

It  was  very  shortly  after  this  auspicious  meeting  that 
Mr.  O'Leary  made  the  visit  to  the  Metropolis,  which 
was.  the  subject  of  so  much  mysterious  whispering  and 
question  aud  conjecture  ki  his  own  neighborhood  long 
after  his  return.  And  about  the  period  of  this  last  event, 
likewise,  it  was  that  the  vane  of  Tibbot  O'Leary's  curiosity 
(to  the  great  joy  and  reUef  of  all  his  living  friends)  began 
to  stream  backward  steadily  towards  the  past,  and  ceased 
to  interest  itself  as  much  as  before  in  the  petty  affairs  of 
his  contemporaries,  on  which  liis  genius  had  been  hitherto 
exhausted.  It  was  hinted  that  it  would  have  been 
happier  for  him  had  his  inquiries  taken  this  turn  before 
his  return  from  Dublin.  The  fair  cause  of  his  disap- 
pomtment  and  retreat  had,  it  was  said,  no  other  ground 
of  dissatisfaction,  on  her  own  admission,  than  poor  Tib- 
bot's  ruling  foible,  which  liad  become  more  and  more  in- 
tolerable as  their  intimacy  increased.  Many  a  character- 
istic scene,  whether  real  or  imaginary,  was  retailed  among 
the  fireside  circles  in  the  neighborhood  as  having  led 
to  the  lachrymose  result  which  exercised  so  strong  an 


MR.    TIBBOT    O^LEARYj    THE    CURIOUS,      157 

influence  over  O'Leary's  subsequent  fortunes.  If  poor 
Tibbot  was  fidgety  and  inquisitive  vrith  his  acquaintances 
in  general,  there  was  no  end  to  his  queries  in  the  company 
of  one  in  whom  he  felt  a  particular  interest ;  and  witliout 
having  a  particle  of  jealousy  in  his  constitution,  all  his 
conduct  was  like  that  of  a  jealous  person.  Now,  without 
having  anything  the  least  in  the  world  criminal  to  conceal, 
all  ladies  know,  and  gentlemen  too,  that  a  thousand 
things  happen  in  the  customary  routine  of  life  which  it 
may  not  suit  one's  purpose  to  speak  of  even  to  one's 
most  intimate  friend.  Even  the  poet  who  insists  most 
strongly  on  the  merit  of  confidential  frankness  advises 
you,  though  in  the  company  of  "  a  bosom  crony,"  to 

"  Still  keep  something  to  yoursel, 
Ye  '11  scarcely  tell  to  oiiy." 

If  Tibbot  saw  Miss  Crosbie  talking  to  a  stranger  in  the 
street,  he  should  know  who  he  was,  who  was  his  father, 
who  was  his  mother,  what  was  his  business  in  town,  etc., 
besides  a  thousand  similar  queries,  the  repeated  answer- 
ing or  evading  which  was  found  so  burdensome,  that  it 
finally  outweighed  all  the  good  qualities  of  the  querist. 
Among  many  appropriate  speeches  which  were  kindly 
ascribed  to  the  hero  and  heroine  of  the  fireside  romance 
by  the  tattle-mongers  in  the  country-side,  there  was  one 
which  was  said  to  have  produced  a  powerful  effect  in 
making  poor  Tibbot  look  like  a  fool  at  the  time  it  was 
uttered. 

"  If  notes  of  interrogation  were  as  current  as  other 
notes,  Mr.  O'Leary,"  said  the  lady,  "  what  an  immense 
capital  you  could  set  afloat !  " 


158  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

Others  averred  tliat  there  "n-as  no  sueh  exchisive  feeling 
of  disappoiutmeut  whatever  on  the  part  of  the  gentleman, 
and  that  it  was  quite  as  much  in  accordance  with  his 
own  desire  as  with  that  of  the  lady  that  the  affair  ended 
as  it  did.  However  this  might  be,  Tibbot  did  not  seem 
to  allow  the  event  to  weigh  very  heavily  upon  his  spirits, 
and  it  was  with  much  equanimity  that  he  subsequently 
even  heard  of  her  marriage  to  another.  His  beloved 
studies  supplied  to  him  the  place  of  all  other  domestic 
happiness;  and  but  for  one  of  those  accidents  which  so 
much  more  frequently  determine  the  fortunes  of  men 
than  any  efforts  of  prudence  or  foresight,  he  might  have 
contmued  his  solitary  pursuits  until  he  had  become 
himself  as  venerable  a  reHc  of  the  past  as  any  of  the 
weather-worn  dallctm  or  trUithons  or  musty  manuscripts 
over  which  he  was  accustomed  to  consume  his  youthful 
hours  with  aU  the  devotion  of  an  enthusiast. 

It  was  late  on  an  autumn  evening,  and  tliroughout 
the  lonesome  apartments  of  Mr.  O'Leary's  dwelling  that 
interval  of  stillness  reigned  which  precedes  the  hour  of 
general  nightly  rest.  .  Tom  Nash  was  getting  out  turf 
for  the  next  morning.  The  old  woman  was  raking  .1  he 
kitchen  fire  in  the  huge  ash-pit.  The  proprietor  of  the 
mansion  was  in  a  distant  corner  of  the  building,  with  a 
chamber  candle  iu  his  hand,  looking  over  the  precious 
antiquarian  treasures  contained  in  that  apartment  which 
he  called  his  library,  but  which  had  much  more  the  ap- 
pearance of  a  museum,  or  the  cabinet  of  a  dealer  in  the 
black  art.  Here  stood  the  jaw-bones  of  an  enormous 
grampus  which  was  stranded  on  the  coast  of  Dingle  half 
a  century  before ;  there   a  huge   stalactite  from  some 


ME,.    TIBBOT    o'lEARY,    THE    CURIOUS.       159 

inland  cavern ;  here  a  penny  struck  in  Galway,  when 
Edward  IV.  had  a  mint  in  that  town ;  there  a  thigh-bone 
of  Heaven  knows  what  animal,  with  a  neck  and  head  of 
a  moose-deer;  here  a  model  of  the  five-inch  hail-stones 
which  fell  in  1748  ;  there  a  massive  silver  brooch,  which 
had  figured  on  the  breast  of  some  Kerry  chieftain  of  the 
Middle  Ages ;  here  a  whole  array  of  battered  trumpets, 
rusty  swords,  wicker  targets,  skenes,  bows  and  arrows, 
bells,  crosses,  and  other  mementos,  to  show  how  our 
ancestors  used  to  live,  and  how  people  used  to  kill  one 
another ;  there  a  row  of  fossils,  Kerry  diamonds,  pyrites 
from  Bantry,  mare  asites  from  Carberry,  and  so  forth. 

Nor  was  his  library  less  curious.  Heaps  of  Irish 
manuscript  songs,  and  metrical  histories  of  the  ancient 
bards  and  seuachies  of  historiographers  of  the  isle ;  vol- 
umes, the  contents  of  which,  like  the  vane  of  a  vessel 
sailing  against  the  wind,  still  pointed  backwards  towards 
the  year  of  the  creation ;  huge  folios  in  various  languages ; 
and,  above  all,  a  whole  sheK  of  learned  treatises  on  the 
probable  use  and  origin  of  round  towers,  —  were  ranged 
against  the  walls  of  his  apartment. 

On  a  sudden,  the  unusual  sound  of  a  horse's  hoof  was 
heard  upon  the  avenue.  Mr.  O'Leary,  in  his  room, 
holding  the  candle  in  his  hand,  and  Tom  Nash  in  the 
kitchen,  at  the  same  instant  paused  to  listen.  What 
belated  wight  could  it  be  who  sought  so  unfrequented 
a  place  of  shelter  as  Chore  Abbey  at  this  lonesome 
hour  ?  It  was  evident  the  rider  was  a  man,  and  a  merry 
fellow  too,  for  as  he  drew  near  the  house  they  coiUd 
hear  him  singing  at  the  top  of  his  voice  a  burlesque 
Latin  version  of  a  popular  song  :  — 


160  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

"  Quum  tyrocinii  tempus  in  Drogheda 
Impiger  egi  ut  ullus  in  oppido, 
Magistri  filia  Bidelia  Dogliertidas 
Foramen  fecit  in  coi-de  RafFertidis." 

Botli  the  voice  and  words  seemed  familiar  to  the  ear 
of  Tibbot  O'Leary,  for  his  countenance  immediately  ex- 
hibited a  mingled  expression  of  pleasure  and  alarm. 

"  Bless  me ! "  he  exclaimed,  "  it  is  he,  sure  enough. 
Was  ever  anything  more  unfortunate  ?  How  did  he 
find  me  out  here,  and  what  shall  I  do  with  him  ?  " 

"  Why  then,  who  in  the  airthly  universe  is  that,  that 's 
comin'  singin'  to  the  doore  at  such  an  hour  ?  "  ejaculated 
Tom  Nash,  below  stairs. 

"  Now  for  an  arrowy  shower  of  ridicule  and  shallow 
derision,"  said  the  master  above. 

"  Now  for  another  job  o'  work  afther  I  thinkin'  all 
my  business  was  done  for  the  night,"  said  the  servant 
below. 

Unconscious  of  this  querulous  duet,  which  his  arrival 
occasioned  within  door,  the  sans  souci  horseman,  instead 
of  taking  the  trouble  to  alight  at  the  hall  door,  continued 
to  shout  and  sing  alternately,  at  tlie  top  of  his  voice,  — 

"  What  ho  !  house  !  Why,  house  !  I  say !  Is  there 
any  one  within  ? 

'  Eu  !  Eu  !  Patrici  Raffertidcs  ! 
Macte  virtute,  Patrici  Raffertidea  ! 

Magisti-i  filia, 

Pulehra  Bidelia, 
Foramen  fecit  in  corde  Raffertidis.' 

What !  house  ! " 


MR.    TIBBOT    o'lEARY^    THE    CURIOUS.       161 

In  the  mean  time  Tom  Nasli  had  made  his  way  to  the 
presence  of  his  master. 

"  The  key  of  the  hall  doorc,  sir,  if  you  plase." 

"  0  Tom,  I  'm  ruined  ! " 

"  How  so,  sir  ?  " 

"  This  is  Mr.  Geoifrey  Gunn,  an  old  college  chum  of 
mine,  and  the  last  person  in  the  world  whom  I  would 
have  find  me  in  this  place." 

"  Well,  sure  't  is  aisy  for  me  to  give  him  the  nien  she- 
sthig,  or  for  us  all  to  hould  our  tongue,  an'  purtiud  we 
don't  hear  him,  an'  lave  him  bawlin'  an'  singiu'  abroad 
there  till  he 's  tired.  The  Gunus  ar'  n't  only  a  modhern 
stock  in  these  parts.  The  first  of  'em  come  over  oudher 
Queen  Lizabit." 

"  Nay,  nay,  that  would  never  answer  ;  I  am  very  glad 
to  meet  him,  though  I  could  wish  —  There  he  calls  again, 
nin  —  run  and  open  the  door.  And  stay,  have  you  got 
anything  for  supper  ?  " 

"Lashins  and  lavins." 

"  Very  well,  have  it  ready,  and  bring  it  when  I  call !  " 

If  it  be  true,  as  some  wise  men  have  asserted,  that  the 
more  a  man  does  the  more  he  is  able  to  do,  it  is  no  less 
a  fact  that  the  less  a  man  docs  the  less  he  is  inclined  to 
do.  The  comparatively  idle  life  which  Tom  Nash  led 
under  his  studious  master  had  strengthened  to  the  utmost 
a  powerful  natural  taste  for  doing  nothing,  and  rendered 
him  proportionably  unfriendly  to  any  demands  upon  his 
labor,  especially  when  they  happened  to  be  unforeseen  or 
out  of  course. 

"  Why  then,  you  'I'e  welcome,  as  the  farmer  said  to 
the  tithe  procthor,"   he  muttered,  going  down  stairs; 

K 


162  LITTLE    CLASSICS, 

"  wliat  a  charmin'  voice  you  have  this  eveniu'.  I  must 
go,  make  up  your  horse  now,  and  give  him  a  feed,  and 
be  cleanin'  your  boots  an'  stirrups,  in  place  o'  bein' 
where  I  ought  to  be  this  time  o'  night,  in  my  warm  bed. 
An'  all  on  account  of  a  roystherin'  bawlin'  bedlamite 
that —  What 's  wantin',  plase  your  honor?  "  he  added 
in  an  altered  tone,  as  he  opened  the  door  and  confronted 
the  belated  horseman. 

"  Is  your  master  at  home  ?  " 

"  He  is,  plase  your  honor." 

"  Will  you  tell  him  that  his  old  friend,  Mr.  Gunn,  is 
come  to  see  him  ?  " 

"He  knows  it  already,  plase  your  honor.  He  hear 
your  honor  singiu'  on  the  aveny,  an'  he  knows  the  voice. 
'Tom  Nash,'  says  he  (mainin'  myself),  'that's  Misther 
Geoffrey  Gimn,  my  old  friend,  an'  I  'm  very  glad  to  meet 
him,'  says  he ;  '  take  care  an'  have  supper  ready  when  I 
call!'" 

"  It  appears  to  me,  Tom,"  said  the  stranger,  as  he 
dismounted,  and  gave  the  bridle  to  Nash,  "  that  you  can- 
not be  much  ti'oublcd  with  visitors  in  this  place." 

"  Only  middlhi',  sir,  of  an  odd  turn.  The  last  we  had 
was  Aisther  two  years,  a  very  civU,  aisy-spoken  gentle- 
man indeed.  He  stopped  only  the  one  night,  an'  ga'e 
me  a  half-crown  in  the  mornin'  when  he  was  goin', 
although  I  never  seen  any  one  that  gave  so  little  throuble. 
I  wanted  not  to  take  it,  but  he  would  n't  be  said  by  me." 

"  Um.     And  where  am  I  to  find  your  master  ?  " 

"  If  your  honor  wiU  condescend  to  take  the  hght  in 
your  hand,  an'  go  sthrait  up  stairs,  wliile  I'm  takin' 
round  the  horse,  you'll  iind  him  above,  in  the  library. 


ME..    TIBBOT   GALEAE Yj    THE    CUEIOUS.       163 

That 's  ttie  place  for  you  to  visit.  He  has  all  the  ould 
rattle-thraps  an'  curiosities  up  there  that  ever  was  dug 
out  o'  the  bowls  o'  the  airth  since  the  creation.  That 's 
the  man  that  has  the  long  head.  Take  care  of  the  hole 
upon  the  first  landing.  You  '11  see  yoursel'  where  there 's 
a  step  wan  tin',  —  in  the  second  flight.  You  can  see  the 
kitchen  down  through  it.  The  gentleman  we  had  here 
last  was  near  breakin'  his  leg  in  it,  comin'  down  stairs  in 
the  mornin'.     We  forgot  to  tell  him  about  it." 

Taking  the  candle  in  his  hand,  Mr.  Gunn  proceeded 
to  ascend  the  venerable  staircase,  with  all  the  caution 
which  these  hints  were  calculated  to  excite.  It  is  curious 
to  think  of  what  materials  we  are  made,  and  how  apt  we 
are  to  consider  an  object  rather  as  it  appears  to  men 
than  as  it  really  is  in  itself.  The  idea  that  there  could 
be  anything  absurd  or  ridiculous  in  his  present  pursuits 
had  never  once  occurred  to  Mr.  O'Leary ;  yet  now  that 
lie  found  himself  and  them  about  to  be  subjected  to  the 
eye  of  one  who,  whatever  he  might  think  of  the  present 
or  the  future,  did  not,  as  he  knew,  care  a  button  for  the 
past,  he  felt  as  much  ashamed  as  if  he  were  conscious 
himself  that  his  life  was  spent  in  a  very  siUy  manner. 
Whether  it  was,  however,  that  it  is  not  so  easy  or  so 
amusing  to  quiz  a  man  in  his  own  house  as  elsewhere,  or 
that  the  world  had  altered  him,  Geoffrey  Gunn  did  not 
manifest  the  least  inclination  to  turn  his  old  companion 
or  his  "  curiosities,"  as  Nash  called  them,  into  ridicule. 
On  the  contrary,  he  even  manifested  a  degree  of  interest 
about  them  ;  and  after  mutual  and  cordial  iuquii'ies  had 
been  interchanged  between  them,  he  had  the  civility  to 
ask  the  names  of  two  or  three  of  tiie  mosi,  fantastic 


164  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

looking  objects  ■wliich  lie  beheld  around  him.  Charmed, 
the  more  with  his  complacency,  as  it  "was  so  wholly  un- 
expected, Mr.  O'Leary  explained  their  uses  and  history, 
much  admiring  the  change  which  time  had  wrought  in 
his  old  friend  since  the  period  when  himself  was  wont  to 
form  the  target  of  his  merriment. 

"And  that  long  spike  with  the  ring  and  two  heavy 
balls  at  one  end  of  it.     It  seems  of  silver." 

"The  purest  silver.     It  is  a  brooch." 

"  A  brooch  !  "  exclaimed  Guuu,  placing  it  against  his 
shirt-friU.     "  Why,  it  weighs  haK  a  pound  !  " 

"  The  more  nearly  resembUug  the  menial  but  necessary 
utensil  from  which  it  derives  its  name,"  said  Mr.  O'Leary. 
"It  is  the  dealg-faUain,  or  ancient  Irish  cloak  bodkin, 
worn  at  the  cosheriugs  or  feasts  of  the  nobihty." 

"Bless  me  !  "  said  Gunn  ;  "  who  would  have  thought 
it !  I  say,  O'Leary,  what  a  figure  a  man  would  cut 
goin'  to  a  subscription  ball  at  the  Rotunda  with  such  a 
thing  as  that  stuck  in  his  buttonhole  !  Well,  you  have 
a  complete  museum  here,  a  second  Noah's  ark.  What  a 
time  it  must  have  taken  you  to  get  them  all  together ! 
And  you  have  them  all  so  pat  at  your  finger's  end." 
(Here  he  yawned  slightly.)  "  Well,  it  is  all  very  curious, 
I  dare  say,  and  very  entertaining  to  those  who  have  a 
talent  for  such  studies.  Besides,  it  is  so  much  more 
interesting  and  instructive  to  spend  one's  time  amid  the 
rehcs  of  the  past  —  the  memorials  of  the  mighty  dead,  as 
somebody  calls  them  —  than  amongst  the  frivolous  beings 
who  usurp  the  name  of  men  in  our  own  degenerate 
time.  As  TuUy  says,  lieu  quanta  minus  est  cum  Us  ver- 
sari  quam  te  meminisse  !  " 


MR.    TIBBOT    O^LEARY^    THE    CURIOUS.       165 

Mr.  O'Leary  made  no  reply,  unwilling  to  interrupt  a 
flow  of  seutiraent  wliich  be  could  not  sufScieutly  admire. 

"  Yes,"  said  Geoffrey  Gunn,  "  there  is  a  grandeur 
about  tbe  past,  wbicb,  the  more  one  thinks  of  it,  makes 
him  shrink  with  distaste  from  tbe  pettiness  and  littleness 
of  tbe  present.  There  is  a  sublimity  of  feeling  associated 
with  tbe  preterite  Was  which  its  fellow  tense  Is  can 
never  produce.  Tbe  very  sound  of  tbe  words  indicates 
a  superiority  in  the  former.  Was,  full-toned  and  broad, 
opens  the  whole  mouth.  Is  comes  forth  between  the 
teeth  like  the  hiss  of  a  goose.  How  pleasing  to  turn 
from  tbe  tiresome,  matter-of-fact  illumination  of  our  own 
times,  that  spread  of  dry  practical  knowledge  which  takes 
away  from  learning  half  its  miportance  by  removing 
its  singularity,  and  contemplate  the  beautiful  gloom  of 
those  majestic  ages  when  the  very  alphabet  itself,  to  the 
mass  of  mankind,  was  invested  with  all  the  interests  of 
mystery  !  " 

"  My  dear  Geoffrey,  I  forgot  to  ask,  have  you  diued  ?  " 

"Psha  !  a  fig  for  dinner  or  breakfast  either,"  said  Gunn, 
after  another  stitied  yawn  ;  "  I  am  not  so  entirely  void  of 
taste  as  to  think  about  eating,  while  such  a  mental  treat 
as  this  is  spread  before  me.  And,  not  to  speak  of  the 
pleasure,  tbe  utility  of  such  pursuits  must  be  apparent 
to  everybody.  Tor  instance,  but  for  the  fortunate  re- 
covery  of  those  sUver  bodkins,  would  not  the  knowledge 
of  the  manner  in  which  tbe  old  O'Douoghoes  and  their 
contemporaries  fastened  their  cloaks  be  lost  forever  to 
the  world  ?  Besides,  it  is  so  much  more  useful  to 
study  how  people  lived  a  thousand  years  ago,  than  it  is 
to  reflect  how  we  are  to  live  ourselves.     Any  fool  can 


166  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

know  his  ovm  business,  but  it  is  only  men  of  sense  and 
understanding,  as  well  as  cbarity,  who  take  an  interest  in 
that  of  persons  who  are  no  longer  able  to  take  care  of  it 
themselves."     (Another  heroic  effort  to  suppress  a  yawn.) 

"  You  must  be  hungry,  however.  It  is  a  good  step 
from  Killarney  here."  (He  rung  the  bell.)  "  Besides, 
we  can  so  much  more  agreeably  talk  over  old  times  at 
a  supper-table  by  the  fireside." 

Geoffrey  Gunn  suffered  himself  to  be  prevailed  upon, 
and  a  very  tolerable  supper  was  speedily  laid  before  the 
pair,  to  which  Gunn  did  such  justice  as  showed  that  his 
antiquarian  enthusiasm  had  not  taken  away  his  appetite. 
On  a  sudden,  while  they  conversed  upon  indifferent 
subjects,  Gunn  raised  his  head  and  said,  as  if  a  sudden 
thought  had  struck  him,  — 

"  Apropos  of  antiquities,  Tibbot,  are  you  acquainted 
with  this  great  female  antiquarian  who  lives  in  your 
neighborhood  ?  " 

"  Not  I.     Whom  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Why,  now  that 's  very  odd.  I  have  only  come  down 
to  this  part  of  the  country  to  snatch  a  peep  at  the  lake 
during  the  vacation,  and  I  know  more  of  your  neighbors 
than  you  who  live  on  the  spot ;  but  then,  rogue  as  you 
are,  I  would  be  a  fool  to  you,  I  warrant,  if  we  came  to 
question  about  the  court  of  the  Ptolemies  or  Phamesas. 
But,  indeed,  it  was  accidentally  I  heard  of  her  first. 
She  is  a  Miss  Moriarty  (a  genuine  west  country  stock), 
and  a  very  witch  at  the  books  ;  knows  Hebrew,  and  can 
even  scrawl  a  hierogly]:)hic  or  two  of  the  Chaldaic  and 
such  things.  As  for  Greek  and  Latin,  she  makes  no  more 
of  them  than  a  squirrel  would  of  cracking  a  nut." 


MR.    TIBBOT   o'lEARY,    THE    CURIOUS.        167 

"  Is  it  possible  ?  How  odd  I  should  uever  have  heard 
of  her !  " 

"  Not  at  all  odd,  my  dear  fellow ;  you  were  busy  about 
more  important  things.  It  is  only  for  us  ephemeral  be- 
ings to  have  our  ears  cocked  for  such  every-day  novel- 
ties. But,  indeed,  you  ought  to  know  her.  She  lives 
not  more  than  half  a  mile  from  here,  on  the  Kenmare 
Road,  in  an  humble  farm-house,  tenanted  by  the  husband 
of  a  relative,  where  she  has  a  couple  of  rooms  filled  with 
all  the  antediluvian  rarities  in  the  world.  You  should 
have  heard  her  upon  the  round  towers." 

"  You  don't  tell  me  so  ?  " 

"  She  has  a  theory  of  her  own  about  them.  I  had  the 
fall  benefit  of  it ;  for  a  few  days  since  I  was  compelled  to 
take  shelter  in  the  house  from  a  shower  of  rain,  and  had 
the  honor  and  happiness  of  hearing,  during  the  half-hour 
I  remained,  more  words  I  could  n't  understand  than  I  did 
the  whole  time  I  was  in  college." 

A  lady  in  his  neighborhood  who  knew  Hebrew  and 
had  got  an  original  theory  upon  the  origin  of  round 
towers  !  Little  more  was  said  upon  the  subject  during 
supper,  unless  that  a  particular  description  was  given  of 
the  lady's  residence ;  but  Tibbot  O'Leary  was  far  from 
letting  it  slip  out  of  memory.  On  the  following  morning, 
after  Geoffrey  Gunn  had  taken  liis  leave  (not  forgetting 
the  gentleman  who  had  given  Nash  a  half-crown  "  last 
Aisther  two  years  "),  he  remained,  as  that  faithful  domestic 
conceived,  unusually  pensive  and  silent,  though  loquacity, 
indeed,  was  never  amongst  his  failings.  Let  us,  how- 
ever, follow  Mr.  Gunn.  He  was  one  of  a  class  of  per- 
sons very  commou  in  Ireland,  and  for  aught  I  know 


168  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

as  common  elsewhere.  He  was  a  liberal  dealer  in  what 
might  be  called  white  lies.  Dining  out,  or  paying  a  visit, 
or  breakfasting,  or  even  meeting  a  friend  in  the  street, 
he  seemed  to  consider  his  time  thrown  away  if  he  did  not 
leave  a  few  such  fictions  behind  him ;  nor  was  it  necessary 
that  they  should  be  in  any  degree  humorous,  or  have  any 
particular  object  in  view ;  it  was  quite  sufficient  if  they 
had  no  foundation  in  truth.  A  foreign  potentate  dead, 
a  coach  upset,  Mrs.  O'What-d'ye-call  brought  to  bed 
of  twins,  Mr.  So-and-so  killed  in  a  duel,  —  such  were 
the  species  of  inventions  which  rolled  from  his  Kps  like  a 
little  torrent  whenever  he  found  himself  amongst  a  civil 
set  of  hearers,  and  in  which  he  was  encouraged  by  the 
laughter  of  some  friends  with  whom  he  passed  for  a  gen- 
uine wit.  The  instant  he  turned  from  Tibbot  O'Leary's 
avenue,  he  trotted  briskly  away,  and  slackened  not  his 
speed  until  he  pulled  bridle  at  the  door  of  a  Mr.  O'Con- 
nor, who  was  not  less  a  gentleman  for  being  a  farmer,  and 
not  less  a  farmer  for  being  a  gentleman.  This  gentle- 
man farmer  appeared  to  have  observed  his  approach  from 
the  windows  of  the  sitting-room ;  for  Geoffrey  Gunn  had 
no  sooner  pulled  up  liis  horse,  than  the  hall  door  opened, 
and  Mr.  O'Connor  appeared  with  outstretched  hand  and 
smiling  countenance. 

"  Good  morrow,  good  morrow !  you  are  welcome. 
Well?" 

"  I  told  you  I  'd  do  it." 

"  But  have  you  done  it  ?     Have  you  seen  him  P  " 

"  Seen  liiin  !  If  you  see  him  not  here  before  a  month 
is  at  an  end,  I  '11  give  you  leave  to  say  this  head  is  good 
for  nothiug  more  than  slashing  wheat  upon." 


MR.    TIBBOT    O^LEAEY^    THE    CURIOUS.       169 

"  You  're  a  nonpareil.  And  is  she  to  know  anything 
about  it?" 

"  As  mucli  as  your  love  of  small  talk  may  induce  you 
to  communicate;  provided  always,  and  be  it  excepted, 
that  no  mention  be  made  of  a  preconcerted  plan.  One 
word  of  that  would  ruin  us  forever." 

"  I  understand  :  trust  me  for  the  discreet  thing.  But 
come  in,  come  in,  we  are  just  going  to  luncheon.  She  'U 
be  deh'ghted  to  see  you." 

"  To  tell  you  the  truth,"  Guun  continued  in  a  lower 
tone,  as  he  entered  the  little  hall  and  took  off  his  great- 
coat, "  it  is  partly  a  matter  of  conscience  with  me,  for  I 
had  a  greater  share  than  sits  easy  on  my  memory  in  that 
former  transaction,  so  that  I  have  something  like  a  per- 
sonal interest  in  seemg  —  Ah,  Miss  Moriarty,  how  d'  ye 
do  ?  "  etc.,  etc.     And  all  sat  down  to  luncheon. 

There  is  generally  a  degree  of  decorous  silence  attend- 
ing the  commencement  of  any  serious  meal  (such  as 
luncheon  often  is  in  a  mountainous  countiy)  which 
gradually  wears  off  according  as  the  motives  diminish 
which  stimulate  to  action  rather  than  to  dialogue.  Ac- 
cordingly, for  some  time,  little  was  heard  except  the 
jingle  of  knives  and  forks,  interspersed  with  an  occasional 
sentence  or  two  in  the  way  of  courtesy.  At  length  the 
attention  of  the  company  to  the  business  before  them 
appeared  to  relax,  and  conversation  gradually  became 
general. 

"  A  shocking  accident  I  witnessed  this  moment  on  the 
road,  Mrs.  O'Connor,"  said  Mr.  Gunn ;  "  a  child  run 
over  by  a  wlicclbarrow  —  never  saw  such  a  spectacle  — 
driven  by  a  bUud  man.      Unfortunately  it  was  loaded 

VOL.  V.  8 


170  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

with  stones  —  saw  the  infant  —  the  wheel  passed  over  its 
neck." 

"  Had  they  medical  aid  in  time  ?  "  asked  Mr.  O'Connor. 

"  Why,  no  ;  unfortunately  the  doctor  was  out  of  the 
way,  attending  a  lady  who  required  his  services  under 
vei'y  peculiar  circumstances.  She  had  taken  her  passage 
hither  in  the  canal-boat  at  Shannon  Harbor,  paying 
cabin  fare  for  one,  of  course,  when,  lo  and  behold  you, 
before  they  had  got  half-way  she  thought  proper  to  fall 
ill,  and  add  two  fine  boys  and  a  lovely  girl  to  the  number 
of  her  Majesty's  subjects.  However,  all  was  well  until 
she  came  to  settle  with  the  captain  at  parting,  when  he 
insisted  on  being  paid  his  fare  for  the  whole  force.  She 
refused :  he  insisted,  and  was  for  keeping  possession 
of  the  three  young  defaulters  until  he  should  be  paid. 
However,  on  second  thoughts,  reflecthig  that  he  would 
probably  be  no  gainer  by  such  an  arrangement,  he  pre- 
ferred suing  for  the  amount.  The  case  is  to  come  on  next 
term,  —  't  is  a  very  knotty  question,  —  bets  .^ire  even  upon 
it  aU  over  the  country,  —  the  curiosity  is  most  intense. 
A.propos  of  curiosity,  Miss  Moriarty,  I  saw  a  friend  of 
yours  lately." 

"  A  friend  of  mine  ?  " 

"  One  at  least  wlio  ought  to  be  so,  —  as  great  an  anti- 
quarian as  yourself,  —  a  terrible  fellow  for  round  towers, 
—  Mr.  TibbotO'Leary." 

"  Is  it  possible  ?     How  I  should  like  to  see  him  !  " 

"  Like  all  very  clever  people,  he  has  some  oddities ; 
amongst  others,  I  hear  he  can't  bear  the  idea  of  a  wig  or 
a  false  tooth ;  has  some  cxtraoroUuary  prejudice  about 
them."     Here  the  speaker  and  Mr.  O'Connor  exchanged 


MR.    TIBBOT    O^LEAKY,   THE    CURIOUS.        171 

significant  looks,  which  seemed  to  indicate  that  their  last 
remark  had  a  meaning  or  a  purpose  beyond  what  it  might 
bear  upon  the  surfacs. 

While  this  was  passing,  Mr.  O'Leary  continued  silent 
and  reflective,  as  he  had  been  ever  smce  Geoifrey  Gunn's 
departure.  Days  passed  away,  and  the  same  moodiness 
of  mind  continued.  Tom  Nash  knew  not  what  to  think 
of  it.  It  was  in  vain  that  he  strove  to  draw  him  into 
a  commimicative  humor,  in  vain  did  he  even  call  the 
talismanic  round  towers  to  his  aid.  Prom  the  moment 
in  which  Mr.  O'Leary  first  heard  of  this  female  Pundit, 
he  was  smitten  with  a  desire  to  hold  some  conversation 
with  her,  and  learn  her  opinion  of  past  ages  and  matters 
before  the  flood.  It  was  not  easy,  however,  to  accom- 
plish it,  for  there  was  nothing  in  the  world  which  he  ab- 
horred at  any  time  more  than  a  visit  of  ceremony ;  and, 
even  if  it  were  otherwise,  what  formal  motive  could  be 
assigned  for  such  a  visit  as  this  ?  Geoffrey  Guun,  how- 
ever, had  thcown  out  a  hint  which  recurred  to  the  memory 
of  the  Irish  antiquarian.  For  many  days,  Nash  observed 
him  consulting  the  weather-glass  with  a  frequency  which 
betokened  a  secret  solicitude  of  mind.  It  continued  dur 
ing  the  space  of  about  a  mouth,  hovering  between  the 
degrees  Pair  and  Set  Pair,  with  a  constancy  which  did 
not  seem  to  afford  his  master  any  considerable  degree  of 
satisfaction.  At  length,  about  the  end  of  the  month, 
the  mercury  began  to  fall,  and  his  master's  spirits  to  rise 
in  an  inverse  ratio,  which  was  exceedingly  puzzhng  to 
Nash. 

"  Tom,"  said  his  master,  with  a  look  of  sprightliness 
and  glee  such  as  he  had  not  manifested  before   since 


172  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

the  visit  of  Mr.  Gunn,  —  "  Tom,  I  'm  in  hopes  we '11  have 
rain  to-morrow." 

"  In  hopes,  masther  ?  'm  sure  't  would  be  our  niination. 
Sure,  'tis  to-morrow  we  have  men  hired  to  have  the 
piaties  dug  in  the  next  field." 

"  Hang  the  potatoes  !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  O'Leary. 

"  Hang  the  piaties  !  MUlia  murdher  !  I  never  heard 
so  foolish  a  speech  as  that  from  him  before.  Hang  the 
piaties !  The  whole  stock  we  have  again'  the  winter ! 
Lord  send  them  ould  books  an'  round  towers  ar'  n't 
makin'  a  whirligig  of  his  brains,"  Nash  muttered,  as  he 
left  the  room.  "  Wisha,  we  never  hard  more  than  that, 
any  way.     Hang  the  piaties  !  " 

Early  on  the  following  morning  Nash  went  into  his 
master's  room  as  usual,  to  take  his  clothes  to  brush. 
While  he  emptied  the  pockets  and  laid  the  contents  on 
the  table,  Mr.  O'Leary,  awoke  by  the  jingling  of  keys 
and  half-pence,  turned  his  head  and  asked,  — 

"  Well,  Nash,  arc  we  Ukely  to  have  rain  ?  " 

"  I  never  seen  such  a  mornin',  sir.  The  sky  is  all  one 
cloud  from  e'st  to  west,  an'  so  low  that  I  could  a'most 
tetch  it  with  my  hand.  I  don't  know  from  Adam  what 
we  '11  do  about  the  piaties ;  the  men  won't  be  able  to 
give  half  a  day  with  the  weather,  a  clane  loss  of  half  a 
guinea  at  the  laste." 

"  That 's  delightful." 

"  Delightful !  "  Nash  repeated,  looking  over  his  shoul- 
der with  surprise.     "  He  's  pursewariu'  in  it,  I  see." 

"  Nash,"  said  ]\Ir.  O'Leary,  pulling  back  his  night- 
cap and  sitting  up,  "  have  both  horses  saddled  and  fed 
I  intend  riding  out  immediately  after  breakfast." 


Mil.    TIBBOT    o'lEARY^    THE    CURIOUS.       173 

"  Is  it  in  the  raiu,  masllier  ?  " 

"  It  is.     Make  haste  and  do  as  I  desire  you." 

"  Pursewariu'  all  through  ! "  ejaculated  Nash,  as  he 
went  out  and  shut  the  door  behind  him.  "  A  whole 
month  of  the  fairest  weather  that  ever  come  out  o'  the 
shky  he  laves  the  horses  in  the  stable  without  stirriu', 
an'  now  the  first  day  he  hears  't  is  rainin'  he  ordliers 
'em  out  for  a  ride.  '  That 's  delightful ! '  he  says,  when 
I  tell  hini  we  '11  lose  a  guinea  by  the  men.  '  Hang  the 
piaties  ! '  If  he  beau't  gettin'  light  I  do'n'  know  what  to 
make  of  it.     I  suppose  we  must  only  do  his  biddin'." 

Some  drops  were  just  begiuniug  to  fall,  as  Mr. 
O'Leary  and  his  faithful  squire  set  off  upon  their 
journey. 

"  WiU  you  bring  the  umbrella,  sir  ?  "  iuquired  Nash, 
as  they  were  about  leaving  the  haU  door. 

"  No,  that  would  never  do." 

"  'T  is  goiu'  to  raiu,  sir." 

"  So  much  the  better." 

Nash  opened  his  mouth  as  if  to  let  his  astonishment 
come  forth. 

"  WouJd  n't  you  take  a  cloak  or  a  coat  itself,  masther, 
sech  a  day  as  this  ?  " 

"  No,  no,  't  would  never  answer." 

"  The  lord  betune  uz  an'  harm  !    A'  why  so,  masther  ?  " 

"  Wonder,  Tom,  is  the  child  of  ignorance,  and  experi- 
ence the  fruit  of  time.  Be  patient,  therefore,  and  con- 
tent yourself  with  doing  as  you  are  directed." 

They  rode  on  for  something  more  than  half  a  mile,  at 
the  termination  of  which  space  the  rain  began  to  fall  in 
torrents.     Mr.  O'Leary   now   quickened  his  pace,  and 


174  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

Nasli  followed  his  example,  but  their  speed  did  not  save 
them  from  a  thorough  drenching. 

"  Dear  knows,  masther,"  exclaimed  Nash,  who  really 
feared  that  the  antiquarian  was  becoming  demented, 
"we  '11  be  dhrowned  this  way.  Wouldn't  it  be  betther 
turn  into  some  house  till  it  gets  lighter,  any  way  ?  " 

"I  hinted  to  you,  Tom,  that  patience  is  the  sister  of 
content,"  replied  liis  master,  continuing  his  gallop. 

"  0,  bother  to  herself  an'  her  sisther ! "  muttered 
Nash,  gathering  the  coUar  of  his  coat  up  under  the  leaf 
of  his  hat,  so  as  to  prevent  the  water  running  down  his 
neck,  and  fortifying,  as  well  as  he  could,  that  part  of  his 
person  on  which  the  wind  beat.  "  I  never  had  such  a 
ride  in  my  life.  I  wondher  is  he  cracked  in  airnest. 
J)ear  knows,  if  it  was  n't  that  I  'm  dhread  which  might 
happen  to  him,  I  'd  be  apt  to  let  him  folly  his  coorse 
alone.     This  day  flogs  all  I  ever  hear." 

After  riding  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  farther,  Mr. 
O'Leary  suddenly  pulled  up  his  horse  and  said,  — 

"  Tom,  is  n't  that  the  avenue  leading  to  Mr.  O'Con- 
nor's ?  " 

"  'T  is,  sir." 

"  I  think  we  might  as  well  turn  in  and  ask  for  shelter 
there,  until  this  shower  passes,  at  all  events." 

"  The  Lord  be  praised,  he 's  comin'  to  again,"  Nash 
added  to  himself,  as  he  alighted  and  opened  the  gate. 
They  followed  the  windings  of  the  path  for  nearly  a 
quarter  of  an  hour,  amid  the  wildest  and  barest  scenery, 
at  the  end  of  which  time  they  reached  a  cottage  some- 
what superior  in  appearance  to  the  general  description 
of  farm-houses  in  the  coimtry,  with  at  least  a  sufficient 


MR.    TIBBOT    O^LEARY,    THE    CURIOUS.        175 

degree  of  decoration  about  the  doors  and  windows  to 
intimate  tliat  the  inmates  were  not  compelled  to  be  at 
all  times  toiling  at  the  spade  or  the  plough-handle.  As 
the  door,  which  was  on  that  side  of  the  house  on  which 
the  wind  did  not  then  blow,  stood  open  at  the  moment, 
our  travellers  alighted  and  entered  the  porch  without 
ceremony.  Here  they  stood  but  a  few  moments,  when 
one  of  the  side  doors  opened,  and  a  hale -looking  man, 
of  respectable  appearance,  presented  himself  before  the 
visitors.  Mr.  O'Leary  apologized  for  their  intrusion, 
talked  of  the  rain,  and  mentioned  his  name,  at  the  same 
time  looking  out  and  expressing  a  hope  (which  Nash 
could  not  help  thinking  either  strangely  inconsistent  or 
very  insincere)  that  it  would  shortly  clear. 

"  Mr.  O'Leary  !  "  exclaimed  the  host  with  an  expres- 
sion of  great  satisfaction,  "  the  very  man  of  all  others 
who  should  be  most  welcome  to  this  house.  I  can  assure 
you,  you  are  no  stranger  here.  Many  a  time  your  name 
is  spoken  of  amongst  us.  Come  in,  come  in.  In  the 
first  place,  you  '11  stop  and  dine  with  us,  —  that 's  settled, 
—  not  a  word  now.  Hallo!  Pat,  take  round  those 
horses  and  see  them  well  taken  care  of.  But  you  are 
dripping  wet !  " 

"  O,  't  is  nothing  !  " 

"  Nothing  ?  Why  you  could  n't  do  a  worse  thing  than 
to  sit  in  wet  clothes,  that  and  reading  a  wet  newspaper. 
My  poor  father  ought  to  know  both,  for  he  lost  his 
eyes  by  one,  and  his  Hfe  by  the  other.  The  time  of  the 
election  he  used  to  be  in  such  a  hurry  to  learn  the  state 
of  the  poll,  and  to  read  the  editor's  remarks,  that  he 
never  would  wait  to  dry  the  paper  after  taking  it  out 


176  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

of  the  cover.  I  used  often  to  say  to  him,  '  Now,  father, 
might  n't  you  as  well  just  hold  it  to  the  fire  for  a  mmute  ? 
You  'U  certainly  lose  your  eyesight.'  True  for  me,  so  he 
did.  Come  up  stairs  and  change  your  clothes.  Not  a 
word,  now.  I  tell  you  't  is  madness  not  to  do  it.  Peg, 
tell  Miss  Moriarty  that  Mr.  O'Leary  is  come  to  spend 
the  day  with  us.  Step  into  the  kitchen,  my  good 
friend  "  (addressing  Nash)  "  and  warm  yourself." 

There  was  no  resisting,  so  that  Mr.  O'Leary  aban- 
doned himself  into  the  hands  of  his  host,  and,  after  the 
necessary  change  of  attire,  was  by  him  conducted  to  the 
sitting-room,  where  he  found  the  antiquarian  lady  ready 
to  receive  him.  To  his  surprise,  there  was  nothing  at 
all  extraordinary  either  in  her  manner  or  appearance, 
except  that  she  wore  a  profusion  of  very  fine  hair,  which 
made  some  amends  for  a  decidedly  ordinary  set  of  fea- 
tures. He  had  not,  however,  much  time  to  speculate  on 
either,  when  the  blunt  and  hospitable  master  of  the 
mansion  arose  and  said  In  his  customary  tone,  — 

"  Well,  now,  as  I  have  a  little  business  to  do  before 
dinner,  and  would  be  only  a  blockhead  in  your  company, 
I  will  leave  you  both  to  talk  of  all  that  took  place  be- 
fore the  flood  and  after,  while  I  settle  an  account  with 
one  or  two  of  my  tenants  in  another  room.  Let  me  see, 
now,  which  of  ye  will  puzzle  the  other." 

One  of  the  parties  was  already  in  tliis  predicament. 
Mr.  Tibbot  O'Leary,  at  this  instant,  found  liimself  in  the 
condition  of  those  unhappy  individuals  wlio  rashly  place 
themselves  in  situations  for  wliich  they  are  wholly  unfitted 
by  nature,  and  only  discover  their  want  of  capacity  when 
it  is  too  late  to  make  a  graceful  retreat.    Not  a  word  had 


STATE  NORMAL  SCHBl) 

MR.    TIBBOT    O^LEAEY,    THE    CURIOUS.       V7'^  AngeteS,  Cal, 

yet  passed  between  them ;  he  had  merely  bowed  to  the 
lady  seven  yards  off,  on  beiug  introduced,  when  they  were 
left,  as  it  were,  caged  together,  with  the  pleasant  conscious- 
ness that  he  was  expected  to  entertain  her.  Had  it  been 
with  a  Uoness,  Tibbot  O'Leary  could  not  have  felt  a 
greater  confusion  of  mind.     Being  totally  unused  to  any-  j 

thing  like  strange  society,  he  never,  until  this  moment,  1 

became  aware  of  his  failing.  Miss  Moriarty,  with  a  polite 
movement  of  the  hand,  invited  him  to  be  seated.  He 
placed  himself  in  a  chair  with  the  utmost  celerity  ;  then, 
after  a  few  minutes,  perceiving  that  the  lady  was  yet 
standing,  he  spi'ung  from  his  seat  with  the  greatest  em- 
barrassment, and  bowed  repeatedly,  by  way  of  apology, 
without  the  power  of  uttering  a  syllable.  After  a  time 
both  obtamed  chairs,  but  without  seeming  to  have  ap- 
proached the  nearer  to  anythmg  like  a  sociable  inter- 
change of  sentiments.  The  longer  the  silence  continued, 
the  more  difficulty  Mr.  O'Leary  found  in  breaking  it,  and 
yet  the  more  embarrassing  it  became.  It  was  not  that 
he  had  got  nothing  to  say.  The  evil  was,  that  a  thousand 
things  occurred  to  hun,  but  all  were  rejected  as  unsatis- 
factory. The  lady,  whether  that  she  shared  his  awkward- 
ness, or  resolved  to  enjoy  it,  was  equally  silent.  At 
length,  when  the  chimney  ornaments  were  beginning  to 
dance  before  his  eyes,  and  the  room  to  move  slowly 
round,  he  ventured  to  stammer  forth,  — 

"  P-p-p-pray,   ma-ma'ara,  what  is   your  opi-pi-pinion 
of  the  r-r-round  towers?" 

"  I  can  hardly  say,"  replied  Miss  Moriarty,  with  a 
degree  of  ease  which  somewhat  diminished  the  confusion 
of  her  visitor,  "  that  I  am  satisfied  with  any  of  the  theo- 
8*  L 


178  LITTLE   CLASSICS. 

ries  wliicli  have  been  broaclied  upon  that  most  interesting 
subject.  Cambrensis  calls  them  'ecclesiastical  towers,' 
with  some  probability.  Lynch  attributes  them  to  the 
Danes,  as  does  also  Peter  Walsh,  -who  are  followed  by 
Ladwich  and  Molyneux ;  but  then,  as  Harris  very  prop- 
erly asks,  if  so,  why  are  no  remains  to  be  found  m  Den- 
mark ?  As  to  Dean  Richardson's  conjecture,  that  they 
were  used  by  anchorites,  I  can  hardly  admit  it,  when  I 
know  that  history  furnishes  but  one  instance  of  a  Sty- 
lite  monk  in  the  Western  Christendom,  in  the  celebrated 
woods  of  Ardennes.  Neither  can  I  say  that  the  ingenious 
but  fanciful  author  of  Collectanea  de  rebus  Hibernicis 
has  thoroughly  convinced  me,  though  I  admit  his  conjec- 
ture to  be  plausible  as  his  evidences  are  ingenious." 

Durmg  the  delivery  of  this  speech,  Mr.  O'Leary  gazed 
from  side  to  side,  opened  wide  his  eyelids  in  astonish- 
ment, and  from  time  to  time  gradually  moved  his  chair 
an  inch  or  two  nearer  to  the  speaker. 

"What  a  woman!"  he  exclaimed  in  his  own  mind, 
and  then  added  aloud  :  "  I  cannot  help  thinking,  ma'am, 
that  one  who  is  so  familiar  with  the  theories  of  others, 
cannot  but  have  formed  some  conjecture  of  her  own 
upon  a  subject  which  has  deservedly  occupied  so  much 
of  her  attention." 

"  Why,  I  cannot  but  say  I  have  been  lliinking  of  it," 
said  Miss  Moriarty,  "  though  I  have  not  yet  ventured  to 
mention  it  to  any  one,  there  is  such  danger  of  a  person's 
being  anticipated.  However,  for  all  I  have  heard  of  Mr. 
O'Leary,  I  am  sure  he  would  be  incapable  of  takmg  so 
unhandsome  an  advantage." 

Mr.  O'Leary  acknowledged  the  exemption  in  his  favor 


ME.    TIBBOT   O^LEARY,    THE    CURIOUS.        179 

by  a  low  bow,  accompanied  by  a  look  of  horror  at  the 
very  idea  of  such  baseness. 

"  My  idea,  then,  is  that  they  were  built  for  none  of  the 
ends  I  have  mentioned,"  said  Miss  Moriarty.  "  You  are 
aware  that  mankind  have,  in  all  ages,  been  remarkable 
for  a  love  of  the  arduous,  and  that  no  pursuits  have  been 
carried  on  witli  greater  zeal,  expense,  and  perseverance 
than  those  which  held  our  least  hope  of  ever  yielding 
any  profitable  result ;  and  the  most  important  practical 
discoveries  in  science  have  often  been  attained  in  the 
pursuit  of  some  visionary  and  unattainable  end.  The 
search  after  the  philosopher's  stone  led  to  the  discovery 
of  Glauber's  salts ;  the  study  of  judicial  asti'ology  pro- 
duced those  elaborate  calculations  in  old  times  which  are 
of  such  importance  to  the  astronomer;  and  the  desire 
to  effect  a  Nortliwest  Passage  conducted  the  voyagers  of 
England  to  the  magnetic  pole.  Now,  my  theory  is,  that 
some  pliilanthropic  patron  of  letters  in  old  time,  observ- 
ing this  disposition  in  his  species,  had  those  round  towers 
built  with  no  other  view  than  that  they  should  exercise 
the  research  and  ingenuity  of  the  learned  in  succeeding 
ages,  and,  by  furnishing  an  inscrutable  subject  of  inquiry, 
perpetuate  the  study  of  Irish  antiquities  through  all  suc- 
ceeding time." 

The  astonishment  and  admiration  of  Mr.  O'Leary  had 
been  reaching  a  climax  during  the  delivery  of  this  ingen- 
ious speech,  at  the  conclusion  of  which  he  again  sprang 
from  his  seat,  and  seemed  about  to  fling  himself  on  his 
knees  in  an  ecstasy  of  delight;  but,  recollecting  liimself 
in  time,  he  drew  back  with  a  respectful  bow,  and  re- 
mained in  his  chair.     At  the  same  instant  the  master  of 


180  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

the  mansion  returned,  in  time  to  prevent  any  repetition 
of  sucli  ecstasies,  and  tlie  conversation  became  more  gen- 
eral and  less  abstruse.  In  some  time  after  dinner  was 
announced,  and  served  up  with  a  degree  of  comfort  which 
made  the  recollection  of  his  own  solitary  meals  at  Chore 
Abbey  less  tolerable,  in  the  comparison  to  Mr.  O'Leary's 
inward  eye,  than  they  had  hitherto  been.  The  worthy 
farmer's  family  was  numerous,  and  did  cordial  justice  to 
the  cheer  which  was  set  before  them.  After  the  cloth 
was  removed  and  grace  said,  Mr.  O'Connor  turned  to 
his  guest,  and  made  the  following  speech :  — 

"  1  don't  know,  Mr.  O'Leary,  whether  you  are  a 
patron  of  those  modern  fashions  which  they  have  begun 
to  introduce,  sucli  as  not  drinking  healths  after  dinner, 
bowing  as  if  you  had  not  a  joint  below  the  shoulder,  and 
such  like ;  but  for  our  parts,  we  still  keep  up  the  good 
old  custom  here,  and  I  hope  you  will  have  no  objection 
to  jom  us." 

"  I  can  assure  you,  sir,"  said  Mr.  O'Leary,  with  equal 
cordiality,  "  that  I  am  no  friend  to  modern  innovations 
or  creations,  which  very  often  savor  more  of  self-suffi- 
ciency than  of  politeness.     As  the  poet  says,  — 

'  We  think  om-  fathers  fools,  so  wise  we  grow ; 
Our  younger  sons,  no  doubt,  will  think  us  so.' " 

"Ah!  "  said  Mr.  O'Connor,  shaking  his  head,  "many 
a  palmer  those  two  lines  cost  me,  when  I  used  to  write 
them  in  my  copy-book  at  school." 

The  glasses  were  now  changed,  and  the  next  ten 
minutes  were  occupied  with  a  confused  babble  of  "  Mrs. 
O'Connor,    your    health,"    "Miss    Moriarty,"    "Miss 


MR.    TIBBOT    O^LEARY,    THE    CURIOUS.       181 

O'Connor,"  "Mr.  O'Connor,"  "Mr.  O'Leary,"  "Mr. 
O'Leary,"  "  Mr.  O'Leary,  your  health,"  and  a  perpetual 
duckmg  of  about  a  dozen  heads  around  the  table,  which 
would  have  had  a  somewhat  comical  appearance  to  any 
person  not  immediately  interested. 

During  their  ride  home,  and  for  months  after,  Tom 
Nash  obssrved  an  extraordinary  change  in  the  deport- 
ment of  his  master.  He  became  more  talkative  than 
usual,  began  to  show  more  solicitude  about  his  dress, 
shaved  every  day,  found  fault  with  everything,  stayed 
little  in  his  museum,  talked  much  of  repairs  and  altera- 
tions about  the  house,  and  acted,  on  the  whole,  as  if 
some  strange  influence  was  at  work  within  his  mind.  At 
length  the  secret  came  out,  one  morning,  when  Nash 
was  in  the  act  of  carrying  a  bag  of  seed  sets  into  the 
back  parlor. 

"Tom,"  said  Mr.  O'Leary,  " you  must  not  put  oats  or 
potatoes  into  that  parlor  any  moi-e." 

"  Why  so,  masther  ?  what  hurt  is  it  doin'  there  ? " 

"  No  matter.     She  might  n't  like  it." 

"  Is  it  ould  Nelly,  sir  ?  " 

"  No,  your  mistress." 

"  My  missiz !  "  Nash  exclauned,  dropping  the  bag  of 
oats. 

"  Yes  :  did  n't  I  tell  you  I  am  going  to  be  married  ?  " 

For  nearly  a  quarter  of  an  hour  the  master  and  man 
remained  gazing  in  each  other's  countenances,  without 
uttering  a  syllable.  At  length  the  latter  found  words  to 
say  in  a  tone  of  the  profoundest  sympathy,  — 

"  The  Lord  preserve  us,  masther !  " 

"  Amen,  Tom !  "  sighed  Mr.  O'Leary ;  and  not  another 


182  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

sentence  was  exclianged  between  them  upon  the  subject, 
until  Mrs.  O'Leary,  ci-devaut  IMiss  Moriarty,  was  intro- 
duced, amid  rejoicings  that  resounded  far  and  near,  to 
the  venerable  mansion  which  it  was  the  owner's  wUl  and 
pleasure  should  thenceforth  call  her  mistress. 

For  a  considerable  time  after  his  marriage,  Nash  ob- 
served nothing  in  the  demeanor  or  conversation  of  his 
master  which  could  lead  him  to  suspect  that  he  regretted 
the  step  which  he  had  taken.  Mrs.  O'Leary  was  all 
that  could  be  wished  in  every  respect,  either  by  master  or 
servant ;  and  indeed  it  surprised  Nash  a  great  deal  more 
than  he  cared  to  let  Mr.  O'Leary  understand,  how  she 
came  to  be  so  easily  satisfied.  Matters  continued  in  this 
even  course  until  they  received  a  second  visit  from  Mr. 
Geoffrey  Gunn,  now  "  Counsellor  "  Gunn,  who,  on  hear- 
ing the  humorous  antiquarian  repeat  his  happiness  for 
the  hundredth  time,  exclaimed,  — 

"  I  can  tell  you  then,  that  if  ladies  are  curious,  they 
sometimes  know  how  to  keep  a  secret.  Did  you  hear 
about  Captain and  his  wife  ?  " 

"No;  what  of  them?" 

"  A  most  extraordinary  story  they  tell,  indeed.  They 
had  been  living  together  in  perfect  harmony,  it  seems, 
for  more  than  twenty  years,  when  she  died,  and  it  was  for 
the  first  time  discovered  that  she  had  exactly  got  two 
faces,  —  one  behind,  and  one  before." 

"  Nonsense  !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  O'Leary. 

"  It  may  be  so,"  replied  his  friend.  "  I  do  not  answer 
for  the  reality  of  the  story. 

'  I  know  not  how  the  truth  may  be, 
I  say  the  tale  as  't  was  said  to  me.'  " 


MK.    TIB30T    GALEAE, Y,    THE    CURIOUS.        183 

"  If  it  be  true,"  said  Tibbot,  "  I  think  the  worst  part 
of  the  affair  was  the  keeping  it  concealed  from  her  hus- 
band." 

As  he  said  this,  he  could  not  help  observing  that  his 
wife  looked  uneasy  and  confused,  and  a  strange  doubt 
rushed  into  his  mind,  which  reawakened  his  original 
foible  in  more  than  all  its  former  force.  The  conversa- 
tion ended ;  but  for.  a  long  time  after  Tibbot  did  not 
retain  the  untroubled  peace  of  mind  which  had  till  now 
accompanied  his  steps.  The  extreme  amiability  of  his 
helpmate  had  won  all  his  confidence,  but  it  made  hira 
uneasy  to  perceive  that  Mrs.  O'Leary  did  not  behave 
towards  him  with  an  equal  absence  of  reserve.  There 
was  evidently  something  preying  on  her  mind,  and  the 
more  pains  he  took  to  remove  everything  that  could  in 
the  least  degree  interfere  with  her  peace  and  comfort, 
the  more  she  seemed  to  feel  it. 

"  1  don't  know  what  to  do  about  it,  Tom,"  lie  said  one 
day,  addressing  Nash,  who  was  the  only  person  in  whom 
he  could  repose  a  confidence.  "  She  scarcely  eats  a  mor- 
sel, and  instead  of  going  off  as  I  thought  it  would,  it  is 
only  growing  worse  and  worse  every  day." 

"  Ah,  raurther,"  said  Nash,  "  don't  be  vexin'  yourself 
about  it.  You  don't  know  the  women.  They  'd  keep 
on  dyen'  that  way,  from  the  age  of  fifteen  to  a  hundherd. 
The  only  way  in  the  world  is  to  let  'em  alone  an'  lave 
'em  to  themselves.  The  more  notice  that 's  tuk  of  'em, 
the  worse  they  gets.  They  don't  know  theirselves  what 
is  it  ails  'em  half  their  time.  Take  it  from  nic,  'tis  never 
any  good  to  be  frettin',  more  especially  if  you  lets  'em  ob- 
sarve  it." 


184  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

Mr.  O'Leary  adopted  Tom's  advice,  and  found  his 
account  in  doing  so.  For  a  considerable  time  after  he 
observed  that  the  less  he  appeared  to  notice  the  anxiety 
which  preyed  on  Mrs.  O'Leary's  mind,  the  more  visibly 
it  diminished. 

Years  rolled  away,  and  after  a  life  spent  in  the  most 
exemplary  discharge  of  all  her  duties  as  a  wife  and 
mother,  Mrs.  O'Leary  felt  her  death  to  be  at  hand. 
In  disposing  her  mind  \iath  aU  the  tranquiUity  which  an 
untroubled  conscience  afforded,  to  enter  on  its  final  pas- 
sage to  a  better  world,  her  faithful  spouse  took  notice 
that  something  of  her  long-forgotten  and  mysterious 
melancholy  would  occasionally  cast  a  gloom  upon  her 
manner.  At  length,  finding  her  end  approach,  she 
called  him  to  her  bedside,  and  after  saying  much  to  him 
in  the  way  of  consolation  and  advice,  as  to  the  care  of 
the  house  and  children,  she  added  with  an  appearance 
of  anxiety,  — 

"  I  have  now  but  one  request  to  add.  It  is  that  my 
head-dress,  such  as  it  is,  be  not  removed  after  my 
death;  that  you  will  not  yourself  uncover  my  head, 
nor  suffer  any  one  else  to  do  so.  I  have  a  particular 
objection  to  it.  Great  and  good  minds,  my  dear  Tib- 
bot,  are  always  superior  to  the  mean  vice  of  curiosity. 
I  am  sure  I  need  say  no  more  to  you,  except  to  add 
that  the  injury  will  be  your  own,  if  you  neglect  to  com- 
ply with  this,  my  last  injunction." 

In  the  first  access  of  soitow  for  the  loss  of  so  faith- 
ful and  so  amiable  a  partner,  Mr.  O'Leary  found  nothing 
very  arduous  m  the  accomplishment  of  her  dying  wishes. 
After  the  first  day,  however,  when  Nature  had  exhausted 


MR.    TIBBOT   O^'lEAEYj    THE    CURIOUS.       185 

herself  in  fits  of  mourning,  and  intervals  of  quiet  reflec- 
tion would  succeed  the  tumult  of  the  widower's  grief, 
he  could  not  prevent  the  question  repeatedly  pi-esent- 
ing  itself  to  his  mind,  —  what  in  the  world  could  be  her 
motive  for  desiring  that  her  head-dress  might  not  be  re- 
moved ? 

In  palliation  of  any  negligence  which  the  worthy 
antiquarian  might  have  committed  in  resisting  such 
suggestions,  it  should  be  remembered  that  a  great  por- 
tion of  his  hfe  had  been  spent  in  researches  having 
chiefly  for  their  end  the  gratification  of  that  foible  on 
which  his  excellent  wife,  in  dying,  had  imposed  so 
grievous  a  burden.  By  continually  recurring,  and  meet- 
ing at  each  fresh  assault  a  fainter  resistance,  it  obtained 
at  length  a  complete  mastery  over  his  mind.  It  was  in 
vain  he  thought  of  Blue-beard,  and  a  thousand  other 
awful  warnings  of  the  kind.  In  the  throes  of  his  curi- 
osity, desirhig  rather  to  gain  an  accomplice  than  a  coun- 
sellor, he  confided  his  agonies  to  Nash,  and  desired  his 
opinion. 

"Be  dis  an'  be  dat,"  said  Nash,  who,  in  a  matter 
which  appeared  to  him  indifferent  on  the  score  of  mo- 
rality, considered  rather  what  would  be  agreeable  to 
his  master  than  what  was  most  in  accordance  with  the 
laws  of  chivalric  honor,  "  dat  I  may  never  die  in  sin, 
but  I  'd  have  a  dawny  peep." 

"But  then  her  last  words,  Tom,  —  her  dying  wishes." 

"  Ayeh,  sure  she  never '11  know  it." 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  O'Leary,  much  shocked,  "I  am 
sure  you  do  not  consider  the  meaning  of  what  you  say. 
I  wish  indeed  she  had  never  given  su(;h  an  injunction. 


1S6  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

for  it  is  probable  I  never  should  have  thought  for  a 
momeut  about  her  head-dress.  Could  I  trust  you,  Tom, 
with  what  I  suspect  to  be  the  true  cause  of  her  injunc- 
tion ?  " 

"  Could  you  thrust  me,  masther !  " 

"  I  believe  I  can.  Well  then,  Tom,  I  think  the  true 
reason  is"  —  he  looked  around,  and  then  whispered  Lu 
horrified  accents  in  his  ear — "that  my  wife  had  two 
faces." 

"Erra,  howl!" 

"  I  often  remarked  some  mystery  about  her  on  that 
point.  However,  I,  who  have  all  my  life  been  so  free 
from  this  ridiculous  foible,  must  not  yield  myself  up  to 
it  now." 

"  Wisha,  the  dear  knows,"  said  Nash,  whose  curiosity 
was  now  wound  up  to  as  high  a  pitch  as  that  of  his  mas- 
ter, "I  wouldn't  have  the  laste  scruple  in  life  about  it. 
If  it  was  anything  that  would  bring  her  any  harm,  or 
keep  any  good  from  her,  the  case  would  be  dcffereut." 

"  That  is  true,  Tom,"  said  his  master.  "  She  told  me 
that  it  would  be  to  my  own  injury.  Now,  were  any 
other  interests  at  stake,  I  would  n't  for  the  world,  — 
but  as  it  can  injure  no  one  but  myself —  Come  along, 
you  must  assist  me  in  this  awful  inquiry." 

They  entered  the  room  in  which  lay  the  remains  of 
the  poor  lady,  Mr.  O'Leary's  mind  filled  with  the  story 
of  Geofirey  Gunn,  which  had  occupied  his  thoughts 
since  he  first  heard  it  a  great  deal  oftener  than  he 
would  have  wished  Mrs.  O'Leary  to  suspect.  Havuig 
excluded,  on  different  pretexts,  every  other  individual, 
they  proceeded  to  the  task  of  removing  the  head-dress. 


MR.    TIBBOT    o'lEAEY,    THE    CURIOUS.       187 

A  cold  perspiration  already  stood  ou  Nasli's  brow,  as  he 
lent  his  aid  in  the  investigation,  holdmg  the  candle  in 
his  hand,  while  his  master,  with  a  countenance  express- 
ing the  most  horrible  anticipations,  removed  the  myste- 
rious head-dress. 

All  that  Mr.  O'Leary  discovered  was,  that  the  fine 
hair  of  which  he  had  so  often  expressed  an  enthusiastic 
admiration  was  only  his  wife's  by  purchase.  The  good 
lady  had  no  more  than  the  average  quantity  of  featui-es, 
and  less  than  the  average  quantity  of  hair,  and,  sharing 
the  weakness  of  the  lady  who,  on  a  like  occasion, 
charged  her  handmaid  to 

"  Give  her  cheek  a  little  red  !  " 

she  feared  that  it  should  be  known,  even  after  her  death, 
that  she  was  indebted  for  almost  her  only  personal  at- 
traction to  —  a  wiff. 


NEAL    MALONE. 

BY    WILLIAM    CARLETON. 


iPPqf^HERE  never  was  a  greater-souled  or  doughtier 
tailor  than  little  Neal  Malone.  Though  but 
four  feet  four  m  height,  he  paced  the  earth 


yJL*J 


with  the  courage  and  confidence  of  a  giant;  nay,  one 
would  have  imagined  that  he  walked  as  if  he  feared  the 
world  itself  was  about  to  give  way  under  him.  Let 
no  one  dare  to  say  in  future  that  a  tailor  is  but  the  ninth 
part  of  a  man.  That  reproach  has  been  gloriously  taken 
away  from  the  character  of  the  cross-legged  corporation 
by  Neal  Malone.  He  has  wiped  it  off  like  a  stain  from 
the  collar  of  a  second-hand  coat ;  he  has  pressed  this 
wrinkle  out  of  the  lying  front  of  antiquity ;  he  has  drawn 
together  this  rent  in  the  respectability  of  his  profession. 
No.  By  him  who  was  breeches-maker  to  the  gods,  — 
that  is,  except,  like  Highlanders,  they  eschewed  inex- 
pressibles,— ^by  him  who  cut  Jupiter's  frieze  jocks  for 
winter,  and  eke  by  the  bottom  of  his  thimble,  we  swear 
that  Neal  Malone  was  more  than  the  niuth  part  of  a 
man. 

Setting  aside  the  Patagonians,  we  maintain  that  two 


NEAL  MALONE.  189 

thirds  of  mortal  hxiraanity  -n-ere  comprised  iu  Neal ;  and 
perhaps  we  might  venture  to  assert  that  two  thirds  of 
Neal's  humanity  were  equal  to  six  thirds  of  another 
man's.  It  is  right  well  known  that  Alexander  the  Great 
was  a  little  man,  and  we  doubt  whether,  had  Alexander 
the  Great  been  bred  to  the  tailoring  business,  he  would 
have  exhibited  so  much  of  the  hero  as  Neal  Malone. 
Neal  was  descended  from  a  fighting  family,  who  had 
signalized  themselves  in  as  many  battles  as  ever  any 
single  hero  of  antiquity  fought.  His  father,  his  grand- 
father, and  his  great-grandfather  were  all  fighting  men, 
and  his  ancestors  in  general,  up,  probably,  to  Con  of 
the  Hundred  Battles  himself.  No  wonder,  therefore, 
that  Neal's  blood  should  cry  out  against  the  cowardice 
of  his  calling ;  no  wonder  that  he  should  be  an  epitome 
of  aU  that  was  valorous  and  heroic  in  a  peaceable  man, 
for  we  neglected  to  inform  the  reader  that  Neal,  though 
"  bearing  no  base  mind,"  never  fought  any  man  in  his 
own  person.  Tiiat,  however,  deducted  nothing  from  his 
courage.  If  he  did  not  figlit,  it  was  simply  because  he 
found  cowardice  universal.  No  man  would  engage  him ; 
his  spirit  blazed  in  vain ;  his  thirst  for  battle  was  doomed 
to  remain  unquenchcd,  except  by  whiskey,  and  this  only 
increased  it.  In  short,  he  could  find  no  foe.  He  has 
often  been  known  to  challenge  the  first  cudgel-players 
and  pugilists  of  the  parish,  to  provoke  men  of  fourteen 
stone  weight,  and  to  bid  mortal  defiance  to  faction 
heroes  of  all  grades,  —  but  in  vain.  There  was  that  in 
him  which  told  them  that  an  encounter  with  Neal  would 
strip  tliem  of  their  laurels.  Neal  saw  all  this  with  a 
lofty  indignation;  he  deplored  the   degeneracy  of  the 


190  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

times,  and  fhouglit  it  hard  that  the  descendant  of  such 
a  fighting  family  should  be  doomed  to  pass  through  life 
peaceably,  Avhilst  so  many  excellent  rows  and  riots  took 
place  around  liira.  It  was  a  calamity  to  see  every  man's 
head  broken  but  his  own ;  a  dismal  thing  to  observe  his 
neighbors  go  about  with  their  bones  in  bandages,  yet 
his  untouched;  and  his  friends  beat  black  and  blue, 
whilst  liis  own  cuticle  remained  undiscolored. 

"  Blur-an'-agers !  "  exclaimed  Neal  one  day,  when 
half  tipsy  in  the  fair,  "  am  I  never  to  get  a  bit  of  fight' 
in'  ?  Is  there  no  cowardly  spalpeen  to  stand  afore  Neal 
Malone  ?  Be  this  an'  be  that,  I  'm  blue-mowlded  for 
want  of  a  batin' !  I  'm  disgracin'  my  relations  by  the 
life  I  'm  ladin' !  WiU  none  o'  ye  fight  me  aither  for 
love,  money,  or  whiskey,  frind  or  inimy,  an'  bad  luck 
to  ye  ?  I  don't  care  a  traneen  which,  only  out  o'  pure 
frindship,  let  us  have  a  morsel  o'  the  rale  kick-up,  'tany 
rate.  Prmd  or  inimy,  I  say  agin,  if  you  regard  me ; 
sure  that  makes  no  differ,  only  let  us  have  the  fight." 

This  excellent  heroism  was  all  wasted;  Neal  could 
not  find  a  single  adversary.  Except  he  divided  himself 
like  Hotspur,  and  went  to  buffets  one  hand  against  the 
other,  there  was  no  chance  of  a  fight ;  no  person  to  be 
found  sufficiently  magnanimous  to  encounter  the  tailor. 
On  the  contrary,  every  one  of  his  friends  —  or,  in  other 
words,  every  man  in  the  parish  —  was  ready  to  support 
him.  He  was  clapped  on  the  back  until  his  bones  were 
nearly  dislocated  in  his  body,  and  his  hand  shaken 
until  his  arm  lost  its  cunning  at  the  needle  for  half  a 
week  afterwards.  This,  to  be  sure,  was  a  bitter  busi- 
ness,  a  state  of  being  past  endurance.      Every  man 


NEAL   MALONE.  391 

was  his  friend,  —  no  man  was  his  enemy.  A  desperate 
position  for  any  person  to  find  himself  in,  but  doubly 
calamitous  to  a  martial  tailor. 

Many  a  dolorous  complaint  did  Neal  make  upon  the 
misfortune  of  having  none  to  wish  him  ill;  and  what 
rendered  this  hardship  doubly  oppressive,  was  the  un- 
lucky fact  that  no  exertions  of  his,  however  offensive, 
could  procure  him  a  single  foe.  In  vain  did  he  insult, 
abuse,  and  malign  all  his  acquaintances.  In  vaui  did  he 
father  upon  them  all  the  rascality  and  villany  he  could 
think  of;  he  lied  against  them  with  a  fores  and  origi- 
nality that  would  have  made  many  a  modern  novelist 
blush  for  want  of  invention,  —  but  all  to  no  purpose. 
The  world  for  once  became  astonishingly  Christian;  it 
paid  back  all  his  efforts  to  excite  its  resentment  with 
the  purest  of  charity;  when  Neal  struck  it  on  the  one 
cheek,  it  meekly  turned  unto  him  the  other.  It  could 
scarcely  be  expected  that  Neal  woidd  bear  this.  To 
have  the  wliole  world  in  friendship  with  a  man  is  beyond 
doubt  an  affliction.  Not  to  have  the  face  of  a  single 
enemy  to  look  upon,  would  decidedly  be  considered  a 
deprivation  of  many  agreeable  sensations  by  most  people, 
as  well  as  by  Neal  Malone.  Let  who  might  sustain  a 
loss,  or  experience  a  calamity,  it  was  a  matter  of  indif- 
ference to  Neal.  They  were  only  his  fi-iends,  and  he 
troubled  neither  his  head  nor  his  heart  about  them. 

Heaven  help  us  !  There  is  no  man  without  his  trials ; 
and  Neal,  the  reader  perceives,  was  not  exempt  from 
his.  "Wliat  did  it  avail  him  that  he  carried  a  cudgel 
ready  for  all  hostile  contingencies,  or  knit  his  brows 
and  shook  liis  kippeen  at  the  fiercest  of  his   fighting 


192  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

friends  ?  The  moment  he  appeared,  they  softened  into 
downright  cordiality.  His  presence  was  the  signal  of 
peace ;  for,  notwithstanding  liis  unconquerable  propen- 
sity to  warfare,  he  went  abroad  as  the  genius  of  unanim- 
ity, though  carrying  in  his  bosom  the  redoubtable  dis- 
position of  a  warrior ;  just  as  the  sun,  though  the  source 
of  hght  himself,  is  said  to  be  dark  enough  at  bottom. 

It  could  not  be  expected  that  Neal,  with  whatever 
fortitude  he  miglit  bear  his  other  afflictions,  could  bear 
such  tranquillity  like  a  hero.  To  say  that  he  bore  it 
as  one,  would  be  basely  to  surrender  his  character ;  for 
what  hero  ever  bore  a  state  of  tranquillity  with  courage  ? 
It  affected  his  cutting  out !  It  produced  what  Burton 
calls  "a  windie  melancholie,"  which  was  nothuig  else 
than  an  accumulation  of  courage  that  had  no  means  of 
escaping,  if  courage  can,  without  indignity,  be  ever  said 
to  escape.  He  sat  uneasy  on  his  lap-board.  Instead  of 
cutting  out  soberly,  he  flourished  his  scissors  as  if  he 
were  heading  a  faction ;  he  wasted  much  chalk  by  scor- 
ing his  cloth  in  wrong  places,  and  even  caught  his  hot 
goose  withoiit  a  holder.  These  symptoms  alarmed  his 
friends,  who  persuaded  him  to  go  to  a  doctor.  Neal 
went,  to  satisfy  them ;  but  he  knew  that  no  prescription 
could  drive  the  courage  out  of  him,  —  that  he  was  too 
far  gone  in  heroism  to  be  made  a  coward  of  by  apothe- 
cary stuff.  Nothing  in  the  pharmacopoeia  could  physic 
him  into  a  pacific  state.  His  disease  was  simply  the 
want  of  an  enemy,  and  an  unaccountable  superabun- 
dance of  friendship  on  the  part  of  his  acquaintances. 
How  could  a  doctor  remedy  this  by  a  prescription? 
Impossible.     The   doctor,  indeed,  recommended  blood- 


NEAL   MALONE,  193 

letting;  but  to  lose  blood  in  a  peaceable  manner  was 
not  only  cowardly,  but  a  bad  cure  for  courage.  Neal 
declined  it :  he  would  lose  no  blood  for  any  man  until 
he  could  not  help  it;  which  was  giving  the  character 
of  a  hero  at  a  siugle  touch.  His  blood  was  not  to  be 
thrown  away  in  this  manner;  the  only  lancet  ever  ap- 
plied to  his  relations  was  the  cudgel,  and  Neal  scorned 
to  abandon  the  principles  of  his  family. 

His  fri^lids,  finding  that  he  reserved  his  blood  for 
more  heroic  purposes  than  dastardly  phlebotomy,  knew 
not  what  to  do  with  him.  His  perpetual  exclamation 
was,  as  we  have  already  stated,  "  I  'm  blue-mowlded  for 
want  of  a  batin' !  "  They  did  everything  in  their  power 
to  cheer  him  with  the  hope  of  a  drubbing;  told  him 
he  Hved  in  an  exceUeut  country  for  a  man  afflicted  with 
his  malady ;  and  promised,  if  it  were  at  all  possible,  to 
create  him  a  private  enemy  or  two,  who,  they  hoped  in 
heaven,  might  trounce  him  to  some  purpose. 

This  sustained  him  for  a  while ;  but  as  day  after  day 
passed,  and  no  appearance  of  action  presented  itself,  he 
could  not  choose  but  increase  in  courage.  His  soul,  like 
a  sword-blade  too  long  m  the  scabbard,  was  beginning 
to  get  fuliginous  by  inactivity.  He  looked  upon  the 
point  of  his  own  needle,  and  the  bright  edge  of  his 
scissors,  with  a  bitter  pang,  when  he  thought  of  the 
spirit  rusting  within  him :  he  meditated  fresh  insults, 
studied  new  plans,  and  hunted  out  cunning  devices  for 
provoking  his  acquaintances  to  battle,  until  by  degrees 
he  began  to  confound  his  o^ni  bram,  and  to  commit  more 
grievous  oversights  in  his  business  than  ever.  Some- 
times he  sent  home  to  one  person  a  coat,  with  the  legs 

VOL.  V.  9  M  • 


194  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

of  a  pair  of  trousers  attaclied  to  it  for  sleeves,  and  de- 
spatched to  auotlier  the  arms  of  the  aforesaid  coat  tacked 
together  as  a  pair  of  trousers.  Sometimes  the  coat  was 
made  to  button  beliind  instead  of  before ;  and  he  fre- 
quently placed  the  pockets  in  the  lower  part  of  the 
skirts,  as  if  he  had  been  in  league  with  cut-purses. 

This  was  a  melancholy  situation,  and  his  friends  pitied 
him  accordingly. 

"  Don't  be  cast  down,  Neal,"  said  they ;  "  your  friends 
feel  for  you,  poor  fellow." 

"Divil  carry  my  fruids,"  replied  Neal;  "sure  there's 
not  one  o'  yez  frindly  enough  to  be  my  inimy.  Tare-an'- 
ouuze  !  what  '11 1  do  ?  I  'm  blue-mowlded  for  want  of  a 
bathi' ! " 

Seeing  that  their  consolation  was  thrown  away  upon 
him,  they  resolved  to  leave  him  to  his  fate ;  wliich  they 
had  no  sooner  done  than  Neal  had  thoughts  of  taking 
to  the  Skiomachia  as  a  last  remedy.  In  this  mood  he 
looked  with  considerable  antipathy  at  his  own  shadow  for 
several  nights;  and  it  is  not  to  be  qiiestioned  but  that 
some  hard  battles  would  have  taken  place  between  llicm, 
had  it  not  been  for  the  cunning  of  the  shadow,  wliicli 
declined  to  fight  hiin  in  any  other  position  tliau  with  its 
back  to  the  wall.  Tliis  occasioned  him  to  pause,  for  the 
wall  was  a  fearful  antagonist,  inasmuch  as  it  knew  not 
when  it  was  beaten;  but  there  was  still  an  alternative  left. 
He  went  to  the  garden  one  clear  day  about  noon,  and 
hoped  to  have  a  bout  with  tlie  shade,  free  from  iuteiTup- 
tion.  Both  approached,  apparently  eager  for  tlie  combat, 
and  resolved  to  conquer  or  die,  when  a  villanous  cloud, 
happening  to  intercept  the  light,  gave  the  shadow  an 


NEAL   MALONE.  195 

opportunity  of  disappeariug ;  and  Neal  found  himself 
once  more  without  an  opponent. 

"  It 's  aisy  known,"  said  Neal,  "  you  have  n't  the  blood 
in  you,  or  you  'd  come  to  the  scratch  like  a  man." 

He  now  saw  that  fate  was  against  him,  and  that  any 
further  hostihty  towards  the  shadow  was  only  a  tempting 
of  Providence.  He  lost  his  health,  spirits,  and  every- 
thing but  his  courage.  His  countenance  became  pale 
and  peaceful  lookmg;  the  bluster  departed  from  him; 
his  body  shrunk  up  like  a  withered  parsnip.  Thrice  was 
he  compelled  to  take  in  his  clothes,  and  thrice  did  he 
ascertain  that  much  of  his  time  would  be  necessarily 
spent  m  pursumg  his  retreating  person  through  the  soli- 
tude of  liis  almost  deserted  garments. 

God  knows  it  is  difficult  to  form  a  correct  opinion 
upon  a  situation  so  paradoxical  as  Neal's  was.  To  be 
reduced  to  skin  and  bone  by  the  downi-ight  friendship 
of  the  world  was,  as  the  sagacious  reader  will  admit, 
next  to  a  miracle.  We  appeal  to  the  conscience  of  any 
man  who  finds  himself  without  an  enemy,  whether  he  be 
not  a  greater  skeleton  than  the  tailor ;  we  will  give  him 
fifty  guineas,  provided  he  can  show  a  calf  to  his  leg. 
We  know  he  could  not ;  for  the  tailor  had  none,  and  that 
was  because  he  had  not  an  enemy.  No  man  in  friend- 
ship with  the  world  ever  has  calves  to  his  legs.  To  sum 
up  all  in  a  paradox  of  our  o'wti  invention,  for  which  we 
claim  the  full  credit  of  originality,  we  now  assert  that 
more  men  have  risen  in  the  world  by  the  injury  of  their 
enemies,  than  have  risen  by  the  kindness  of  their  friends. 
You  may  take  this,  reader,  in  any  sense ;  apply  it  to 
hanging  if  you  like ;  it  is  stiU  immutably  and  immovably 
true. 


196  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

Oue  day  Neal  sat  cross-legged,  as  tailors  usually  sit, 
in  the  act  of  pressing  a  pair  of  breeches ;  his  hands  were 
placed,  backs  iip,  upon  the  handle  of  his  goose,  and  his 
chin  rested  upon  the  back  of  liis  hands.  To  judge  from 
his  sorrowful  complexion,  one  would  suppose  that  he 
sat  rather  to  be  sketched  as  a  picture  of  miseiy,  or  of 
heroism  in  distress,  than  for  the  industrious  purpose 
of  pressing  the  seams  of  a  garment.  There  was  a  great 
deal  of  New  Burlington  Street  pathos  in  his  counte- 
nance ;  his  face,  Uke  the  times,  was  rather  out  of  joint ; 
"the  sun  was  just  setting,  and  his  golden  beams  fell, 
with  a  saddened  splendor,  athwart  the  tailor's  —  "  The 
reader  may  fiU  up  the  picture. 

In  this  position  sat  Neal  when  Mr.  O'Connor,  the 
schoolmaster,  whose  inexpressibles  he  was  turning  for 
the  third  time,  entered  the  workshop.  Mr.  O'Connor 
himself  was  as  finished  a  picture  of  misery  as  the  tailor. 
There  was  a  patient,  subdued  kind  of  expression  in  his 
face  which  indicated  a  Tery  fair  portion  of  calamity ;  his 
eye  seemed  charged  with  affliction  of  the  first  water ;  on 
each  side  of  Ms  nose  might  be  traced  two  dry  channels 
which,  no  doubt,  were  full  enough  while  the  tropical 
rains  of  his  countenance  lasted.  Altogether,  to  con- 
clude from  appearances,  it  was  a  dead  match  in  affliction 
between  him  and  the  tailor ;  both  seemed  sad,  fleshless, 
and  unthriving. 

''  Misther  O'Connor,"  said  the  tailor,  when  the  school- 
master entered,  "  won't  you  be  pleased  to  sit  down  ?  " 

Mr.  O'Connor  sat;  and,  after  wiping  his  forehead,  laid 
his  hat  upon  the  lap-board,  put  his  half-handkerchief  in 
bis  pocket,  and  looked  upon  the  taUor.     The  tailor,  in 


NEAL   M ALONE.  197 

return,  looked  upon  Mr.  O'Connor ;  but  neither  of  them 
spoke  for  some  minutes.  Neal,  in  fact,  appeared  to  be 
wrapped  up  in  his  own  misery,  and  Mr.  O'Connor  in 
his ;  or,  as  we  often  have  much  gratuitous  sympathy  for 
the  distresses  of  our  friends,  we  question  but  the  tailor 
was  wrapped  up  in  Mr.  O'Connor's  misery,  and  Mr. 
O'Connor  in  the  tailor's. 

Mr.  O'Connor  at  length  said,  "Neal,  are  my  inex- 
pressibles finished? " 

"I  am  now  pressiu'  your  inexpressibles,"  rephed  Neal ; 
"but,  be  my  sowl,  Mr.  O'Connor,  it's  not  your  inexpres- 
sibles I  'm  thinkiu'  of.  I  'm  not  the  ninth  part  of  what 
I  was.     I  'd  hardly  make  paddin'  for  a  collar  now." 

"  Are  you  able  to  carry  a  staff  still,  Neal  ?  " 

"  I  've  a  light  hazel  one  that 's  handy,"  said  the  tailor ; 
"  but  where 's  the  use  of  carryin'  it,  whin  I  can  get  no 
one  to  fight  wid  ?  Sure  I  'm  disgracin'  my  relations  by 
the  life  I'm  ladui'.  I'll  go  to  my  grave  widout  ever 
batiu'  a  mau,  or  beui'  bate  myself ;  that 's  the  vexation. 
Divil  the  row  ever  I  was  able  to  kick  up  in  my  life ;  so 
that  I  'm  fairly  blue-mowlded  for  want  of  a  batin'.  But 
if  you  have  patience  —  " 

"  Patience !  "  said  Mr.  O'Connor,  with  a  shake  of  the 
head  that  was  perfectly  disastrous  even  to  look  at,  — 
"  patience,  did  you  say,  Neal  ?  " 

"  Ay,"  said  Neal,  "  an'  be  my  sowl,  if  you  deny  that 
I  said  patience,  I  '11  break  your  head  !  " 

"Ah,  Neal,"  returned  the  other,  "I  don't  deny  it; 
for,  though  I'm  teaching  philosophy,  knowledge,  and 
mathematics  evei-y  day  in  my  hfe,  yet  I  'm  learning 
patience  myself  both  night  and  day.     No,  Neal ;  1  have 


198  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

forgotten  to  deny  anything.  I  have  not  been  guilty  of 
a  contradiction,  out  of  my  own  school,  for  the  last  four- 
teen years.  I  once  expressed  the  shadow  of  a  doubt 
about  twelve  years  ago,  but  ever  since  I  have  abandoned 
even  doubtiug.  That  doubt  was  the  last  expiring  effort 
at  maintaining  my  domestic  authority,  —  but  I  suffered 
for  it." 

"  Well,"  said  Neal,  "  if  you  have  patience,  I  '11  tell 
you  what  afflicts  me  from  beguinin'  to  eudin'." 

"  I  ti'ill  have  patience,"  said  Mr.  O'Connor ;  and  he 
accordingly  heard  a  dismal  and  indignant  tale  from  the 
tailor. 

"  You  have  told  me  that  fifty  times  over,"  said  Mr. 
O'Comior,  after  hearing  the  story.  "Your  spirit  is  too 
martial  for  a  pacific  life.  If  you  follow  my  advice,  I 
will  teach  you  how  to  ripple  the  calm  current  of  your 
existence  to  some  purpose.  Marry  a  wife.  Por  tweuty- 
five  years  I  have  given  instruction  in  three  branches, 
namely,  philosophy,  knowledge,  and  mathematics.  I  am 
also  well  versed  in  matrimony,  and  I  declare  that,  upon 
my  misery,  and  by  the  contents  of  all  my  afflictions,  it  is 
my  solemn  and  melancholy  opinion  that,  if  you  marry  a 
wife,  you  will,  before  three  mouths  pass  over  your  con- 
catenated state,  not  have  a  single  complaint  to  uiake 
touching  a  superabundance  of  peace  or  tranquillity,  or 
a  love  of  fighting." 

"Do  you  mane  to  say  that  any  woman  would  make 
me  afeard  ?  "  said  the  tailor,  deUberately  rising  up  and 
getting  liis  cudgel.  "  I  '11  thank  you  merely  to  go  over 
the  words  agin,  tiU  I  thrash  you  widiu  an  inch  of  your 
life.     That 's  aU." 


NEAL   MALONE.  199 

"Neal,"  said  the  schoolmaster,  meekly,  "I  won't 
fight;  I  have  been  too  often  subdued  ever  to  presume 
on  the  hope  of  a  single  victoiy.  My  spirit  is  long  since 
evaporated ;  I  am  like  one  of  your  own  shreds,  a  mere 
selvage.  Do  you  not  know  how  much  my  habiliments 
have  shrunk  in,  even  within  the  last  five  years  ?  Hear 
me,  Neal ;  and  venerate  my  words  as  if  they  proceeded 
from  the  lips  of  a  prophet.  If  you  wish  to  taste  the 
luxury  of  bemg  subdued,  —  if  you  are,  as  you  say, 
blue-moulded  for  want  of  a  beatmg,  and  sick  at  heart 
of  a  peace  fid  existence,  —  why,  marry  a  wife.  Neal,  send 
my  breeches  home  with  all  haste,  for  they  are  wanted, 
you  understand,     rarewell." 

Mr.  O'Connor,  havuig  thus  expressed  himself,  de- 
parted, and  Neal  stood,  with  the  cudgel  in  his  hand, 
looking  at  the  door  out  of  which  he  passed,  with  an 
expression  of  fierceness,  contempt,  and  reflection  strong- 
ly blended  on  the  ruins  of  his  once  heroic  visage. 

Many  a  man  has  happiness  within  his  reach  if  he  but 
knew  it.  The  tailor  had  been  hitherto  miserable,  because 
lie  pursued  a  wrong  object.  The  schoolmaster,  however, 
suggested  a  train  of  thought  upon  which  Neal  now 
fastened  with  all  the  ardor  of  a  chivalrous  temperament. 
Nay,  he  wondered  that  the  family  spirit  should  have  so 
completely  seized  upon  the  fighting  side  of  his  heart  as  to 
preclude  all  thoughts  of  matrimony  ;  for  he  could  not  but 
remember  that  his  relations  were  as  ready  for  marriage 
as  for  fighting.  To  doubt  this  would  have  been  to  throw 
a  blot  upon  his  owu  escutcheon.  He  therefore  very 
prudently  asked  himself  to  whom,  if  he  did  not  marry, 
should  he  transmit  liis  courage.     He  was  a  single  man. 


200  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

and,  dying  as  such,  he  woidd  be  the  sole  depository  of 
his  o\yn  valor,  which,  like  Junius's  secret,  must  perisli 
with  him.  If  he  could  have  left  it  as  a  legacy  to  such 
of  his  friends  as  were  most  remarkable  for  cowardice, 
why,  the  case  would  be  altered  :  but  this  was  impossible, 
—  and  he  had  now  no  other  means  of  presei'viug  it  to 
posterity  than  by  creating  a  posterity  to  inherit  it.  He 
saw,  too,  that  the  world  was  likely  to  become  convulsed. 
"Wars,  as  everybody  knew,  were  certain  to  break  out; 
and  would  it  not  be  an  excellent  opportunity  for  being 
father  to  a  colonel,  or,  perhaps,  a  general,  that  miglit 
astonish  the  world  ? 

The  change  visible  in  Neal,  after  tlie  schoolmaster's 
last  visit,  absolutely  thunderstruck  all  who  knew  him. 
The  clothes,  which  he  had  rashly  taken  in  to  fit  his 
shrivelled  limbs,  were  once  more  let  out.  The  tailor 
expanded  with  a  new  spirit;  his  joints  ceased  to  be 
supple,  as  m  the  days  of  his  valor ;  his  eye  became  less 
fiery,  but  more  brilhant.  From  being  martial,  he  got 
desperately  gallant ;  but,  somehow,  he  could  not  afford 
to  act  the  hero  and  lover  both  at  the  same  time.  This, 
perhaps,  would  be  too  much  to  expect  from  a  tailor. 
His  policy  was  better.  He  resolved  to  bring  all  his 
available  energy  to  bear  upon  the  charms  of  whatever 
fair  nymph  he  should  select  for  the  honor  of  matrimony ; 
to  waste  his  spirit  in  fighting  would,  therefore,  be  a 
deduction  from  the  single  purpose  in  view. 

The  transition  from  war  to  love  is  by  no  means  so 
remarkable  as  we  miglit  at  first  imagine.  Wc  quote  Jack 
FalsfafT  in  proof  of  tliis;  or,  if  the  reader  be  disposed 
to  reject  our  authority,  then  we  quote  Ancient  Pistol 


NEAL   MALONE,  201 

himself,  —  both  of  whom  we  consider  as  the  most  finished 
specimens  of  heroism  that  ever  carried  a  safe  skin. 
Acres  would  have  been  a  hero  had  lie  worn  gloves  to 
prevent  the  courage  from  oozing  out  at  his  palms,  or  not 
felt  such  an  unlucky  antipathy  to  the  "  snug  lying  in  the 
Abbey  "  ;  and  as  for  Captain  Bobadil,  he  never  had  an 
opportunity  of  putting  his  plan  for  vanquishing  an  ai'my 
into  practice.  We  fear,  indeed,  that  neither  his  character, 
nor  Ben  Jonson's  knowledge  of  human  nature,  is  properly 
understood ;  for  it  certainly  could  not  be  expected  that 
a  man  whose  spirit  glowed  to  encounter  a  whole  host, 
could,  without  tarnishing  his  dignity,  if  closely  pressed, 
condescend  to  fight  an  individual.  But  as  these  remarks 
on  courage  may  be  felt  by  the  reader  as  an  invidious 
introduction  of  a  subject  disagi'ceable  to  him,  we  beg  to 
hush  it  for  the  present  and  return  to  the  tailor. 

No  sooner  had  Neal  begun  to  feel  an  inclination  to 
matrimony,  than  his  friends  knew  that  his  principles  had 
veered,  by  the  change  now  visible  in  his  person  and 
deportment.  They  saw  he  had  ratted  from  courage,  and 
joined  love  Heretofore  his  life  had  been  all  whiter, 
darkened  by  storm  and  hurricane.  The  fiercer  virtues 
had  played  the  devil  with  him ;  every  word  was  thunder, 
every  look  lightning  ;  but  now  aU  that  had  passed  away : 
before,  he  was  the  fortiter  in  re  ;  at  present,  he  was  the 
suaviter  in  modo.  His  existence  was  perfect  spring,  — 
beautifully  vernal.  All  the  amiable  and  softer  qualities 
began  to  bud  about  his  heart ;  a  genial  warmth  was  dif- 
fused over  him  ;  his  soul  got  green  within  him  ;  every  day 
was  serene,  and  if  a  cloud  happened  to  become  visible, 
there  was  a  roguish  rainbow  astride  of  it,  on  which  sat 
9* 


202  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

a  beautiful  Iris  tliat  laughed  down  at  Mm,  aud  seemed  to 
say,  "  Why  the  dickens,  Neal,  dou't  you  marry  a  wife  ?  " 

Neal  could  not  resist  the  afflatus  -which  descended  on 
him ;  an  ethereal  light  dwelled,  he  thought,  upon  the  face 
of  nature ;  the  color  of  the  cloth  which  he  cut  out  from 
day  to  day  was,  to  his  enraptured  eye,  like  the  color  of 
Cupid's  wings,  —  all  purple ;  his  visions  were  worth  their 
weight  in  gold ;  his  dreams,  a  credit  to  the  bed  he  slept 
on ;  and  his  feelings,  like  blind  puppies,  young  and  alive 
to  the  mUk  of  love  and  kindness  which  they  drew  from 
his  heart.  Most  of  this  delight  escaped  the  observation 
of  the  world,  for  Neal,  like  your  true  lover,  became  shy 
and  mysterious.  It  is  difficult  to  say  what  he  resembled ; 
no  dark-lantern  ever  had  more  light  shut  up  within  itself 
than  Neal  had  in  his  soul,  although  his  friends  were  not 
aware  of  it.  They  kneAv,  indeed,  that  he  had  turned  his 
back  upon  valor ;  but  beyond  this  their  knowledge  did 
not  extend. 

Neal  was  shrewd  enough  to  know  that  what  he  felt 
must  be  love;  nothing  else  could  distend  him  with 
happiness  until  his  soul  felt  light  and  bladder-like,  but 
love.  As  an  oyster  opens,  when  expecting  the  tide,  so 
did  his  sold  expand  at  the  contemplation  of  matrimony. 
Labor  ceased  to  be  a  trouble  to  him ;  he  sang  und  sewed 
from  morning  to  night ;  his  hot  goose  no  longer  burned 
him,  for  his  heart  was  as  hot  as  his  goose;  the  vibrations 
of  his  head,  at  each  successive  stitch,  were  no  longer  sad 
and  melancholy.  There  was  a  buoyant  shake  of  exulta- 
tion in  them  wliieh  showed  that  his  soul  was  placid  and 
happy  within  him. 

Endless  honor  be  to  Neal  Malone  for  the  originality 


NEAL   MALONE.  203 

with  -which  he  managed  the  tender  sentiment !  He  did 
not,  like  your  commonplace  lovers,  first  discover  a  pretty 
girl,  and  afterwards  become  enamored  of  her.  No  such 
thing ;  he  had  the  passion  prepared  beforehand,  —  cut  out 
and  made  up,  as  it  were,  ready  for  any  girl  whom  it  might 
fit.  This  was  falling  in  love  in  the  abstract,  and  let  no 
man  condemn  it  without  a  trial ;  for  many  a  long-winded 
argument  could  be  urged  iu  its  defence.  It  is  always 
wrong  to  commence  business  without  capital,  and  Neal 
had  a  good  stock  to  begin  with.  All  we  beg  is,  that  the 
reader  will  not  confound  it  witli  Platonism,  which  never 
marries;  but  he  is  at  full  liberty  to  call  it  Socratism, 
which  takes  unto  itself  a  wife,  and  suffers  accordingly. 

Let  no  one  suppose  that  Neal  forgot  the  schoolmas- 
ter's kindness,  or  failed  to  be  duly  grateful  for  it.  Mr. 
O'Connor  was  the  first  person  whom  he  consulted 
touching  his  passion.  With  a  cheerful  soul  he  waited 
on  that  melancholy  and  gentleman-like  man,  and  m  the 
very  luxuiy  of  his  heart  told  hun  that  lie  was  in  love. 

"  In  love,  Neal !  "  said  the  schoolmaster.  "  May  I 
inquire  with  whom  ?  " 

"  Wid  nobody  in  particular  yet,"  repUed  Neal ;  "  but 
of  late  I  'm  got  divilish  fond  o'  the  girls  iu  general." 

"  And  do  you  call  that  being  in  love,  Neal  ?  "  said  Mr. 
O'Connor. 

"  Why,  what  else  would  I  call  it  ?  "  returned  the  tailor. 
"Am  n't  I  fond  of  them?" 

"  Then  it  must  be  what  is  termed  the  Universal  Pas- 
sion, Neal,"  observed  Mr.  O'Connor,  "  although  it  is  the 
first  lime  I  have  seen  such  an  illustration  of  it  as  you 
orescnt  in  your  own  person." 


204  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

"  I  wish  you  would  advise  me  liow  to  act,"  said  Neal ; 
"  I  'm  as  happy  as  a  prince  since  I  began  to  get  fond  o' 
them,  an'  to  think  of  marriage." 

The  schoohnaster  shook  his  head  again,  and  looked 
rather  miserable.  Neal  rubbed  his  hands  with  glee,  and 
looked  perfectly  happy.  The  schoolmaster  shook  his  head 
again,  and  looked  more  miserable  than  before.  Neal's 
happiness  also  increased  on  the  second  rubbing. 

Now,  to  tell  the  secret  at  once,  Mr.  O'Connoi-  would 
not  have  appeared  so  miserable,  were  it  not  for  Neal's 
happiness;  nor  Neal  so  happy,  were  it  not  for  Mr. 
O'Connor's  misery.  It  was  aU  the  result  of  contrast; 
but  this  you  will  not  understand  unless  you  be  deeply 
read  in  modern  novels. 

Mr.  O'Connor,  however,  was  a  man  of  sense,  who 
knew,  upon  this  principle,  that  the  longer  he  continued 
to  shake  his  head,  the  more  miserable  he  must  become, 
and  the  more  also  would  he  increase  Neal's  happiness; 
but  he  had  no  intention  of  increasing  Neal's  happuiess 
at  his  own  expense,  —  for,  upon  the  same  hypothesis,  it 
would  have  been  for  Neal's  interest  had  he  remained 
shaking  his  head  there,  and  gettuig  miserable  until  the 
day  of  judgment.  '  He  consequently  declined  giving  the 
third  shake,  for  he  thought  that  plain  conversation  was, 
after  all,  more  significant  and  forcible  than  the  most  elo- 
quent nod,  however  ably  translated. 

"Neal,"  said  he,  "could  you,  by  stretching  your 
imagination,  contrive  to  rest  contented  witli  nursing 
your  passion  in  solitude,  and  love  the  sex  at  a  dis- 
tance ?  " 

"  How   could  I  nurse    and    mind    my   business  ? " 


NEAL   MALONE.  205 

replied  the  tailor.  "  I  '11  never  uurse  so  long  as  I  '11 
have  the  wife ;  and  as  for  'maguiation,  it  depends  upon 
the  grain  of  it  whether  I  can  stretch  it  or  not.  I  don't 
know  that  I  ever  made  a  coat  of  it  in  my  life." 

"You  don't  understand  me,  Neal,"  said  the  school- 
master. "  In  recommending*  marriage,  I  was  only  driv- 
ing one  evil  out  of  you  by  introducing  another.  Do  you 
think  that,  if  you  abandoned  all  thoughts  of  a  wife,  you 
would  get  heroic  again;  that  is,  would  you  take  once 
more  to  the  love  of  fighting  ?  " 

"There  is  no  doubt  but  I  would,"  said  the  tailor: 
"  if  I  miss  the  wife,  I  '11  kick  up  such  a  dust  as  never 
was  seen  ui  the  parish,  an'  you  're  the  first  man  that 
I  '11  hck.  But  now  that  I  'm  in  love,"  he  continued, 
"sure  I  ought  to  look  out  for  the  wife." 

"  Ah  !  Neal,"  said  the  schoolmaster,  "  you  are  tempt- 
ing destiny ;  your  temerity  be,  with  all  its  melancholy 
consequences,  upon  your  own  head." 

"  Come,"  said  the  tailor,  "  it  was  n't  to  hear  you 
groaning  to  the  tune  of  '  Dhrimmindhoo,'  or  '  The  old 
woman  rockin'  her  cradle,'  that  I  came ;  but  to  know  if 
you  could  help  me  in  makin'  out  the  wife.  That 's  the 
discoorse." 

"  Look  at  me,  Neal,"  said  the  schoolmaster,  solemnly ; 
"  I  am  at  this  moment,  and  have  been  any  time  for  the 
last  fifteen  years,  a  living  caveto  against  matrimony.  I 
do  not  think  that  earth  possesses  such  a  luxury  as  a  sin- 
gle solitary  life.  Neal,  the  monks  of  old  were  happy 
men;  they  were  all  fat  and  had  double  chins;  and, 
Neal,  I  tell  you,  that  all  fat  men  are  in  general  happy. 
Care  cannot  come  at  them  so  readily  as  at  a  thin  man; 


206  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

before  it  gets  through  the  sti-oug  outworks  of  flesh  and 
blood  with  which  they  are  surrounded,  it  becomes 
treacherous  to  its  original  purpose,  joins  tlie  cheerful 
spirits  it  meets  in  the  system,  and  dances  about  the  heart 
in  all  the  madness  of  mirth ;  just  like  a  suieere  ecclesias- 
tic, who  comes  to  lecture  a^ood  feUow  agaiust  drinking, 
but-  who  forgets  his  lecture  over  his  cups,  and  is  laid 
under  the  table  with  such  success,  that  he  either  never 
comes  to  finish  his  lecture,  or  comes  often  to  be  laid 
under  the  table.  Look  at  me,  Neal,  how  wasted,  flesh- 
less,  and  miserable  I  am.  You  know  how  my  garments 
have  shrunk  in,  and  what  a  solid  man  I  was  before  mar- 
riage. Neal,  pause,  I  beseech  you ;  otherwise  you  stand 
a  strong  chance  of  becoming  a  nonentity  like  myself." 

"  I  don't  care  what  I  become,"  said  the  taUor ;  "  I 
can't  think  that  you  'd  be  so  unreasonable  as  to  expect 
that  any  of  the  Malones  should  pass  out  of  the  world 
widout  either  beiu'  bate  or  marrid.  Have  reason,  Mr. 
O'Connor,  an'  if  you  can  help  me  to  the  wife,  I  promise 
to  take  in  your  coat  the  next  time  for  nothin'." 

"  Well,  then,"  said  Mr.  O'Connor,  "  what  would  you 
think  of  the  butcher's  daughter,  Biddy  Neil  ?  You  have 
always  had  a  thirst  for  blood,  and  here  you  may  have  it 
gratified  in  an  innocent  manner,  should  you  ever  become 
sanguinary  again.  'T  is  true,  Neal,  she  is  twice  your 
size,  and  possesses  three  times  your  strength;  but  for 
that  very  reason,  Neal,  marry  her  if  you  can.  Large  ani- 
mals are  placid ;  and  Heaven  preserve  those  bachelors 
whom  I  vrish  well,  from  a  small  wife ;  't  is  such  who  al- 
ways wield  the  sceptre  of  domestic  life,  and  rule  their 
husbands  with  a  rod  of  iron." 


NEAL    MALONE.  207 

"  Say  no  more,  Mr.  O'Connor,"  replied  the  tailor ; 
"  she  's  the  very  girl  I  'm  in  love  md,  an'  never  fear 
but  I  '11  overcome  her  heart  if  it  can  be  done  by  man. 
Now,  step  over  the  way  to  my  house,  an'  we  '11  have  a 
sup  on  the  head  of  it.     Who 's  that  calling  ?  " 

"  Ah  !  Neal,  I  know  the  tones,  —  there 's  a  shrillness 
in  them  not  to  be  mistaken.  Farewell !  I  must  de- 
part ;  you  have  heard  the  proverb,  '  those  who  are  bound 
must  obey.'  Young  Jack,  I  presume,  is  squalling,  and  I 
must  either  nurse  him,  rock  the  cradle,  or  sing  comic 
tunes  for  him,  though  Heaven  knows  with  what  a  disas- 
trous heart  I  often  sing,  '  Begone,  dull  care,'  the  '  Rakes 
of  Newcastle,'  or,  '  Peas  upon  a  Trencher.'  Neal,  I  say 
again,  pause  before  you  take  this  leap  in  the  dark. 
Pause,  Neal,  I  entreat  you.     Farewell !  " 

Neal,  however,  was  gifted  with  the  heart  of  an  Irish- 
man, and  scorned  caution  as  the  characteristic  of  a 
coward  ;  he  had,  as  it  appeared,  abandoned  all  design  of 
fighting,  but  the  courage  still  adhered  to  him  even  in 
making  love.  He  consequently  conducted  the  siege  of 
Biddy  Neil's  heart  with  a  degree  of  skill  and  valor  which 
would  not  have  come  amiss  to  Marshal  Gerald  at  the 
siege  of  Antwerp.  Locke  or  Dugald  Stewart,  indeed, 
had  they  been  cognizant  of  the  tailor's  triumph,  might 
have  illustrated  the  principle  on  which  he  succeeded; 
as  to  ourselves,  we  can  only  conjecture  it.  Our  own 
opinion  is,  that  they  were  both  animated  with  a  con- 
genial spirit.  Biddy  was  the  very  pink  of  pugnacity, 
and  could  throw  in  a  body-blow,  or  plant  a  facer,  with 
singular  energy  and  science.  Her  prowess  hitherto  had, 
we  confess,  been  displayed  only  within  the  limited  range 


208  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

of  domestic  life  ;  but  sliould  slie  ever  find  it  necessary  to 
exercise  it  upon  a  larger  scale,  there  was  no  doubt  what- 
soever, in  the  opinion  of  her  mother,  brothers,  and  sis- 
ters, every  one  of  whom  she  had  successively  subdued, 
that  she  must  undoubtedly  distinguish  herself.  There 
was  certaiuly  one  difficulty  which  the  tailor  had  not  to 
encounter  in  the  progress  of  his  courtship  ;  the  field 
was  his  own ;  he  had  not  a  rival  to  dispute  his  claim. 
Neither  was  there  any  opposition  given  by  her  friends  ; 
they  were,  on  the  contrary,  all  anxious  for  the  match; 
and  when  the  arrangements  were  concluded,  Neal  felt  his 
hand  squeezed  by  them  in  succession,  with  an  expres- 
sion more  resembling  condolence  than  joy.  Neal,  how- 
ever, had  been  bred  to  tailoring,  and  not  to  metaphysics ; 
he  could  cut  out  a  coat  very  well,  but  we  do  not  say 
that  he  could  trace  a  principle,  —  as  what  tailor,  except 
Jeremy  Taylor,  could  ? 

There  was  nothing  particular  in  the  wedding.  Mr. 
O'Connor  was  asked  by  Neal  to  be  present  at  it ;  but 
he  shook  his  head,  and  told  him  that  he  had  not  courage 
to  attend  it,  or  inclination  to  witness  any  man's  sorrows 
but  his  own.  He  met  the  wedding  party  by  accident, 
and  was  heard  to  exclaim  with  a  sigh  as  they  flaunted 
past  him  in  gay  exuberance  of  spirits,  "Ah,  poor 
Neal !  he  is  going  like  one  of  her  father's  cattle  to  the 
shambles  !  Woe  is  me  for  having  suggested  matrimony 
to  the  tailor  !  He  will  not  long  be  under  the  necessity 
of  saying  that  he  is  '  blue-moulded  for  want  of  a  beat- 
ing.' The  butchcress  will  fell  him  like  a  Kerry  ox,  and 
I  may  have  his  blood  to  answer  for,  and  his  discomfiture 
to  feel  for,  in  addition  to  my  own  miseries." 


NEAL   M ALONE.  209 

On  the  evening  of  the  wedding  day,  about  the  hour 
of  ten  o'clock,  Neal,  whose  spirits  were  uncommonly 
exalted,  for  his  heart  luxuriated  within  him,  danced 
with  his  bridesmaid ;  after  the  dance  he  sat  beside 
her,  and  got  eloquent  in  praise  of  her  beauty;  and  it 
is  said,  too,  that  he  whispered  to  her,  and  chucked 
her  chin  with  considerable  gallantry.  The  tete-a-tete 
continued  for  some  time  without  exciting  particular 
attention,  with  one  exception ;  but  thai  exception 
was  worth  a  whole  chapter  of  general  rules.  Mrs. 
Malone  rose  up,  then  sat  down  again,  and  took  off  a 
glass  of  the  native ;  she  got  up  a  second  time,  —  all 
the  wife  rushed  upon  her  heart,  —  she  approached 
them,  and,  in  a  fit  of  the  most  exquisite  sensibility, 
knocked  the  bridesmaid  down,  and  gave  the  tailor  a 
kick  of  affecting  pathos  upon  the  inexpressibles.  The 
whole  scene  was  a  touching  one  on  both  sides.  The 
tailor  was  sent  on  all-fours  to  the  floor !  but  Mrs. 
Malone  took  him  quietly  up,  put  him  under  her 
arm,  as  one  would  a  lap-dog,  and  with  stately  step 
marched  away  to  the  connubial  apartment,  in  which 
everything  remained  very  quiet  for  the  rest  of  the 
night. 

The  next  momiag  Mr.  O'Connor  presented  himself 
to  congratulate  the  tailor  on  his  happiness.  Neal,  as 
his  friend,  shook  hands  with  him,  gave  the  school- 
master's fingers  a  slight  squeeze,  such  as  a  man  gives 
who  would  gently  entreat  your  sympathy.  The  school- 
master looked  at  him,  and  thought  he  shook  his  head. 
Of  this,  however,  he  coiild  not  be  certain ;  for,  as  he 
shook  his  own  during  the  moment  of  observation,  he 


210  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

concluded  that  it  miglit  be  a  mere  mistake  of  the  eye, 
or,  perhaps,  the  result  of  a  mind  predisposed  to  be  cred- 
ulous on  the  subject  of  shaking  heads. 

We  wish  it  were  in  our  power  to  draw  a  veil,  or 
curtain,  or  blind  of  some  description,  over  the  remnant 
of  the  tailor's  narrative  that  is  to  follow ;  but  as  it  is 
the  duty  of  every  faithful  historian  to  give  the  secret 
causes  of  appearances  which  the  world  in  general  do 
not  understand,  so  we  think  it  but  honest  to  go  on, 
impartially  and  faithfully,  without  shrinking  from  the 
responsibility  that  is  frequently  annexed  to  truth. 

For  the  first  three  days  after  matrimony,  Neal  felt 
like  a  man  who  had  been  translated  to  a  new  and 
more  lively  state  of  existence.  He  had  expected,  and 
flattered  himself,  that  the  moment  this  event  should 
take  place,  he  would  once  more  resume  his  heroism, 
and  experience  the  pleasure  of  a  drubbing.  This  de- 
termination he  kept  a  profound  secret ;  nor  was  it 
known  until  a  future  period,  when  he  disclosed  it  to 
Mr.  O'Connor.  He  intended,  therefore,  that  marriage 
should  be  nothing  more  than  a  mere  parenthesis  in  his 
life,  —  a  kind  of  asterisk,  pointing,  in  a  note  at  the 
bottom,  to  this  single  exception  in  his  general  conduct, 
—  a  nota  bene  to  the  spirit  of  a  martial  man,  intimating 
that  he  had  been  peaceful  only  for  a  while.  In  truth, 
he  was,  during  the  influence  of  love  over  him,  and  up 
to  the  very  day  of  his  marriage,  secretly  as  blue- 
moulded  as  ever  for  want  of  a  beating.  The  heroic 
penchant  lay  snugly  latent  in  his  heart,  unchecked  and 
unmodified.  He  flattered  himself  that  he  was  achiev- 
ing a  capital  imposition  upon  the  world  at  large,  —  that 


A 


NEAL    MALONE.  211 

he  "was  actually  hoaxing  mankind  in  general,  —  and 
that  such  an  excellent  piece  of  knavish  tranquillity 
had  never  been  perpetrated  before  his  time. 

On  the  first  week  after  his  marriage  there  chanced 
to  be  a  fair  in  the  next  market-town.  Neal,  after 
breakfast,  brought  forward  a  bunch  of  shillelahs,  in 
order  to  select  the  best ;  the  wife  inquired  the  pui-pose 
of  the  selection,  and  Neal  declared  that  he  was  resolved 
to  have  a  fight  that  day,  if  it  were  to  be  had,  he  said, 
for  "love  or  money."  "The  truth  is,"  he  exclaimed, 
strutting  with  fortitude  about  the  house,  — "  the  truth 
is,  that  I  've  done  the  whole  of  yez,  —  I  'm  as  blue- 
mowlded  as  ever  for  want  of  a  batui'." 

"  Don't  go,"  said  the  wife. 

"  I  will  go,"  said  Neal,  with  vehemence ;  "  I  'U  go,  if 
the  whole  parish  was  to  go  to  prevint  me." 

In  about  another  half-liour  Neal  sat  down  quietly  to 
his  business,  instead  of  going  to  the  fair  ! 

Much  ingenious  speculation  might  be  indulged  in 
upon  this  abrupt  termination  to  the  tailor's  most  for- 
midable resolution;  but,  for  our  own  part,  we  will 
prefer  going  on  with  the  narrative,  leaving  the  reader 
at  liberty  to  solve  the  mystery  as  he  pleases.  In  the 
mean  time,  we  say  this  much,  —  let  those  who  cannot 
make  it  out,  carry  it  to  their  taUor;  it  is  a  tailor's 
mystery,  and  no  one  has  so  good  a  right  to  Tinderstand 
it,  —  except,  perhaps,  a  tailor's  wife. 

At  the  period  of  his  matrimony,  Neal  had  become 
as  plump  and  as  stout  as  he  ever  was  known  to  be  ia 
his  plumpest  and  stoutest  days.  He  and  the  school- 
master had  been  very  intimate   about  this  time ;  but 


212  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

we  know  not  how  it  happened  that  soon  afterwards 
he  felt  a  modest,  bride-hke  reluctance  in  meeting  with 
that  afflicted  gentleman.  As  the  eve  of  his  union  ap- 
proached, he  was  in  the  habit,  during  the  school- 
master's visits  to  his  workshop,  of  alluding,  in  rather 
a  sarcastic  tone,  considering  the  unthriving  appearance 
of  his  friend,  to  the  increasing  lustiness  of  his  person. 
Nay,  he  has  often  leaped  up  from  his  lap-board,  and, 
in  the  strong  spirit  of  exultatioH,  thrust  out  his  leg 
in  attestation  of  his  assertion,  slapping  it,  moreover, 
with  a  loud  laugh  of  triumph,  that  sounded  like  a 
knell  to  the  happiness  of  his  emaciated  acquaintance. 
The  schoolmaster's  philosophy,  however,  unlike  his 
flesh,  never  departed  from  him ;  his  usual  observation 
was,  "  Neal,  we  are  both  receding  from  the  same 
point ;  you  increase  in  flesh,  whilst  I,  Heaven  help  me, 
am  fast  dimiuishiug." 

The  tailor  received  these  remarks  with  very  bois- 
terous mirth,  whilst  Mr.  O'Connor  simply  shook  his 
head,  and  looked  sadly  upon  his  Umbs,  now  shrouded 
in  a  superfluity  of  garments,  somewhat  resembling  a 
slender  thread  of  water  in  a  shallow  summer  stream, 
nearly  wasted  away,  and  surrounded  by  an  unpropor- 
tionate  extent  of  channel. 

The  fourth  month  after  the  marriage  arrived,  Neal, 
one  day,  near  its  close,  began  to  dress  himself  in  hia 
best  apparel.  Even  then,  when  buttoning  his  waist- 
coat, he  shook  his  head  after  the  manner  of  Mr.  O'Con- 
nor, and  made  observations  upon  the  great  extent  to 
which  it  over-folded  liim. 

"Well,"  thought  he  with  a  sigh,  "this  waistcoat  cer- 


NEAL   MALONE.  213 

tainly  did  fit  me  to  a  T ;  but  it 's  wonderful  to  think 
how  —  cloth  stretches  !  " 

"Neal,"  said  the  wife,  on  perceiving  him  dressed, 
"  where  are  you  bound  for  ?  " 

"Paith,  for  life,"  rephed  Neal,  with  a  mitigated 
swagger ;  "  and  I  'd  as  soon,  if  it  had  been  the  will  of 
Provid  — " 

He  paused. 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?  "  asked  the  wife  a  second 
time. 

"Why,"  he  answered,  "only  to  dance  at  Jemmy 
Connolly's ;  I  'U  be  back  early." 

"  Don't  go,"  said  the  wife. 

"  I  '11  go,"  said  Neal,  "  if  the  whole  counthry  was  to 
prevint  me.  Thunder  an'  lightnin',  woman,  who  am 
I  ?  "  he  exclaimed,  in  a  loud,  but  rather  infirm  voice ; 
"  am  n't  I  Neal  Malone,  that  never  met  a  man  who  'd 
fight  him  !  Neal  Malone,  that  was  never  beat  by  man  ! 
Why,  tarc-an-ounze,  woman !  Whoo  !  I  '11  get  enraged 
some  time,  an'  play  the  divU !     Who  's  afeard,  I  say  ?  " 

"Don't  go"  added  the  wife,  a  third  time,  giving 
Neal  a  significant  look  in  the  face. 

In  about  another  half-hour  Neal  sat  down  quietly 
to  his  business,  instead  of  going  to  the  dance ! 

Neal  now  turned  himself,  like  many  a  sage  in  similar 
circumstances,  to  philosophy ;  that  is  to  say,  he  began 
to  shake  liis  head  upon  principle,  after  the  manner  of 
the  schoolmaster.  He  would,  indeed,  have  preferred 
the  bottle  upon  principle;  but  there  was  no  getting 
at  the  bottle,  except  through  the  wife ;  and  it  so  hap- 
pened that  by  the   time   it    reached    him,   there  was 


214  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

little  consolation  left  in  it.  Neal  bore  all  in  silence; 
for  silence,  his  friend  had  often  told  him,  was  a  proof 
of  wisdom. 

Soon  after  this,  Neal  one  evening  met  Mr.  O'Connor 
by  chance  upon  a  plank  which  crossed  a  river.  This 
plank  was  only  a  foot  m  breadth,  so  that  no  two  iadi- 
viduals  could  pass  each  other  upon  it.  We  cannot  find 
words  in  which  to  express  the  dismay  of  both,  on  finding 
that  they  absolutely  ghded  past  one  another  without 
coUision. 

Both  paused,  and  surveyed  each  other  solemnly ;  but 
the  astonishment  was  all  on  the  side  of  Mr.  O'Coimor. 

"  Neal,"  said  the  schoolmaster,  "  by  all  the  household 
gods,  I  conjure  you  to  speak,  that  I  may  be  assured  you 
live !  " 

The  ghost  of  a  blush  crossed  the  churchyard  visage  of 
the  tailor. 

"Oh ! "  he  exclaimed,  "why  the  divU  did  you  tempt 
me  to  marry  a  wife  ?  " 

"  Neal,"  said  his  friend,  "answer  me  in  the  most  sol- 
emn manner  possible ;  throw  into  your  countenance  all 
the  gravity  you  can  assume ;  speak  as  if  you  were  under 
the  hands  of  the  hangman,  with  the  rope  about  your 
neck,  for  the  question  is  indeed  a  trying  one  which  I  am 
about  to  put.  Are  you  still '  blue-moulded '  for  want  of  a 
beating  ? " 

The  tailor  collected  himself  to  make  a  reply ;  he  put  one 
leg  out,  —  the  very  leg  which  he  used  to  show  in  triumph 
to  his  friend ;  but,  alas,  how  dwindled !  He  opened  his 
waistcoat  and  lapped  it  round  him,  until  he  looked  like  a 
weasel  on  its  hind  legs.    He  then  raised  himself  up  ou 


NEAL   MALONE.  215 

his  tiptoes,  and,  iii  an  awful  whisper,  replied,  "  No !  !  ! 
the  divil  a  bit  I  'm  blue-mowlded  for  want  of  a  batiu'  !  " 

The  schoolmaster  shook  his  head  in  his  own  miserable 
manner ;  but,  alas  !  he  soon  perceived  that  the  tailor  was 
as  great  an  adept  at  shaking  the  head  as  himself.  Nay, 
he  saw  that  there  was  a  calamitous  refinement,  a  delicacy 
of  shake  in  the  tailor's  vibrations  which  gave  to  his  own 
nod  a  very  commonplace  character. 

The  next  day  the  tailor  took  in  his  clothes ;  and  from 
time  to  time  continued  to  adjust  them  to  the  dimensions 
of  his  shrinkmg  person.  The  schoolmaster  and  he, 
whenever  they  could  steal  a  moment,  met  and  sympathized 
together.  Mr.  O'Connor,  however,  bore  up  somewhat 
better  than  Neal.  The  latter  was  subdued  in  heart  and 
in  spirit;  thoroughly,  completely,  and  intensely  van- 
quished. His  features  became  sharpened  by  misery,  for 
a  termagant  wife  is  the  whetstone  on  which  all  the  calam- 
ities of  a  henpecked  husband  are  painted  by  the  DevU. 
He  no  longer  strutted  as  he  was  wont  to  do ;  he  no 
longer  carried  a  cudgel  as  if  he  wished  to  wage  a 
universal  battle  with  maukuid.  He  was  now  a  married 
man.  Sneakingly,  and  with  a  cowardly  crawl,  did  he 
creep  along  as  if  every  step  brought  him  nearer  to  the 
gallows.  The  schoolmaster's  march  of  misery  was  far 
slower  than  Neal's :  the  latter  distanced  him.  Before 
three  years  passed  he  had  shrunk  up  so  much,  that  he 
could  not  walk  abroad  of  a  windy  day  without  carrying 
weights  m  his  pockets  to  keep  him  firm  on  the  earth 
which  he  once  trod  with  the  step  of  a  giant.  He  again 
sought  the  schoolmaster,  with  whom,  indeed,  he  associ- 
ated as  much  as  possible.     Here  he  felt  certain  of  receiv- 


216  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

ing  sympathy;  nor  was  lie  disappointed.  That  worthy 
but  miserable  man  and  Neal  often  retired  beyond  the 
hearing  of  their  respective  wives,  and  supported  each 
other  by  every  argument  in  their  power.  Often  have 
they  been  heard  in  the  dusk  of  evenmg  singing  behind 
a  remote  hedge  that  melancholy  ditty,  "  Let  us  both  be 
unhappy  together  "  ;  wliich  rose  upon  the  twilight  breeze 
with  a  cautious  quaver  of  sorrow  truly  heart-rending  and 
lugubrious. 

"Neal,"  said  Mr.  O'Connor,  on  one  of  those  occa- 
sions, "here  is  a  book  which  I  recommend  to  your 
perusal ;  it  is  called  '  The  Afilicted  Man's  Companion ' ; 
try  if  you  cannot  glean  some  consolation  out  of  it." 

"  Faith,"  said  Neal,  "  I  'm  forever  oblaged  to  you, 
but  I  don't  want  it.  1  've  had  '  The  Afflicted  Man's 
Companion '  too  long,  and  not  an  atom  of  consolation  I 
can  get  out  of  it.  I  have  one  o'  them,  I  tell  you ;  but, 
be  me  sowl,  I  '11  not  undertake  a  pair  o'  them.  The 
veiy  name  's  enough  for  me."     They  then  separated. 

The  tailor's  vis  vita  must  have  been  powerful,  or  he 
would  have  died.  In  two  years  more  his  friends  could 
not  distinguish  him  from  his  own  shadow;  a  circum- 
stance which  was  of  great  inconvenience  to  him.  Several 
grasped  at  the  hand  of  the  shadow  instead  of  his ;  and 
one  man  was  near  paying  it  five  and  sixpence  for  making 
a  pair  of  small-clothes.  Neal,  it  is  true,  undeceived  him 
with  some  trouble,  but  candidly  admitted  that  he  was 
not  able  to  carry  home  the  money.  It  was  difficult,  in- 
deea,  for  the  poor  tailor  to  bear  what  he  felt ;  it  is  tnie 
he  bore  it  as  long  as  h?  could ;  but  at  length  he  became 
suicidal,  and  often  had  thoughts  of  "  making  his  oatu 


NEAL  MALONE.  217 

quietus  with  his  bare  bodkia."  After  many  deliberations 
and  afflictions,  he  ultimately  made  the  attempt;  but, 
alas  !  he  found  that  the  blood  of  the  Malones  refused  to 
flow  upon  so  ignomiuious  an  occasion.  So  he  solved  the 
phenomenon ;  although  the  truth  was,  that  his  blood  was 
not  "  i'  the  vein  "  for  it ;  none  was  to  be  had.  What 
then  was  to  be  done  ?  He  resolved  to  get  rid  of  life  by 
some  process;  and  the  next  that  occurred  to  him  was 
hanging.  In  a  solemn  spirit  he  prepared  a  selvage,  and 
suspended  himself  from  the  rafter  of  his  workshop ;  but 
here  another  disappointment  awaited  him ;  he  would  not 
hang.  Such  was  his  want  of  gravity  that  his  own  weight 
proved  insufficient  to  occasion  his  death  by  mere  suspen- 
sion. His  third  attempt  was  at  drowning ;  but  he  was 
too  light  to  sink ;  all  the  elements,  all  his  own  energies, 
joiued  themselves,  he  thought,  in  a  wicked  conspiracy 
to  save  his  life.  Having  thus  tried  every  avenue  to 
destruction,  and  failed  in  all,  he  felt  Hke  a  man  doomed 
to  live  forever.  Henceforward  he  shrunk  and  shrivelled 
by  slow  degrees,  until  in  the  course  of  time  he  became  so 
attenuated  that  the  grossness  of  human  vision  could  no 
longer  reach  him. 

This,  however,  could  not  last  always.  Though  still 
alive,  he  was  to  aU  intents  and  purposes  miperceptible. 
He  could  only  now  be  heard ;  he  was  reduced  to  a  mere 
essence ;  the  very  echo  of  human  existence,  vox  et  praterea 
nihil.  It  is  true  the  schoolmaster  asserted  that  he  occa- 
sionally caught  passing  gUmpses  of  him ;  but  that  was 
because  he  had  been  himself  nearly  spiritualized  by  afflic- 
tion, and  his  visual  ray  purged  in  the  furnace  of  domestic 
tribulation.     By  and  by  Neal's  voice  lessened,  got  fainter 

VOL.   V.  10 


LITTLE    CLASSICS. 


and  more  indistinct,  until  at  length  notliing  but  a  doubt 
ful  murmur  could  be  heard,  which  vdtimately  could 
scarcely  be '  distinguished  fi'om  a  ringiug  in  the  ears. 
Such  was  the  awful  and  mysterious  fate  of  the  tailor, 
who,  as  a  hero,  could  not  of  course  die ;  he  merely  dis- 
solved like  an  icicle,  wasted  into  immateriahty,  and  finally 
melted  away  beyond  the  pei'ception  of  mortal  sense. 
Mr.  O'Connor  is  still  living,  and  once  more  ia  the  fubiess 
of  perfect  health  and  strength.  His  wife,  however,  we 
may  as  well  hint,  has  been  dead  more  than  two  years. 


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